


Kingdom of Summer

by GwynDuLac



Series: Stand By Me [3]
Category: Arthurian Mythology, Arthurian Mythology & Related Fandoms
Genre: Bath Sex, Cuddling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Smut, Kink Negotiation, Light BDSM, Light Bondage, M/M, Masturbation, Okay maybe a small amount of plot, Older Man/Younger Man, Outdoor Sex, PWP, Past Rape, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Power Dynamics, Spanking, Sparring, a bit - Freeform, because the last part was plot-heavy, oblique reference to past Bad Things, sword fighting as foreplay, tags updated as I post, they're still coping with shit, this is Lance and Gareth getting the vacation they deserve, those should have both been tagged sooner tbh, very brief reference, very small
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-05
Updated: 2017-11-14
Packaged: 2018-09-22 03:19:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 69,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9580250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GwynDuLac/pseuds/GwynDuLac
Summary: Following the dramatic events of Part II of this series, Arthur sends Lancelot and Gareth off to Lancelot's home for a well-deserved rest ("rest"). Lancelot and Gareth take full advantage of two weeks alone to enjoy themselves - and each other - thoroughly.





	1. Preface

**Author's Note:**

> Well, for everyone who has stuck with me this far (through all 68,000 words of drama and angst), this is your reward : ). If you haven't read the other two parts I would suggest that you do. While this is light on plot, the context and backstory are reasonably important to understanding some significant parts of Lancelot and Gareth's relationship. 
> 
> This part should be about 10% plot, 75% porn, and 15% fluff, give or take. Might end up a little heavier on the fluff since that seems to happen naturally with these two. 
> 
> This first chapter itself is fairly short by my standards, but I wanted to get something up so that I would feel compelled to continue writing up the rest of my ideas for these two. 
> 
> Anyhow, enjoy : D

We rode out of Camelot around noon, slipping away while most of the others were occupied since neither Lancelot nor I had the energy (emotional or otherwise) to deal with nosy energetic Knights who asked too many questions. We’d spoken to Cei that morning, and briefly seen Arthur and Guinevere again, then packed our bags, saddled our much put-upon horses, and simply left.

  
It was, I was led to understand, about a day’s ride to Lancelot’s estate, which meant we would likely be staying at an inn for a single night on the way there, unless we wanted to ride well past dark (neither of us did). We were unaccompanied, for this close to Camelot the roads were plenty safe for two armed and armored men; the sun was out, the weather was finally growing truly warm with the approaching summer; and the direction we were riding was only lightly populated, meaning we were largely unbothered by curious travellers once we got away from the city proper. It was utterly lovely.

“So,” I began brightly, finally breaking or companionable silence after nearly two hours on the road, “How come I’ve never been to your home before?” Hell - I barely even know where it is.”

Lance glanced in my direction and gave me a crooked smile. “Well, because it isn’t really home. Camelot is. Well...” he looked down at his hands in a gesture I had long ago learned meant that he was embarrassed, “I suppose for a long time ‘home’ meant Arthur, and now ‘home’ means you.”

I grinned and blushed at that. “Well, that’s flattering. And very sweet.” I was trying to encourage better - more explicit - communication between us. I paused, considered, then added, “For what it’s worth, I feel the same.” We shared a quick, affectionate smile, then I let my expression and tone become teasing. “Now, stop changing the subject.”

He huffed a disbelieving little laugh, the way he did when he was amused (and perhaps mildly astounded) by my cheek. “Right. Well. I don’t go back much - really just when Arthur insists I get away for a time. It’s a good place for that.”

I was curious to hear more about why, but first I asked, “How did you come by it?”

“Well...after Arthur took the throne there were quite a few small holdings that no longer had anyone to hold them, and he wanted to ensure that they were in loyal hands - especially the ones close to Camelot. There were also several knights, of course, who came from families without land, and he wanted to rectify that to give them more standing and financial security. So those of us lacking lands were given out pick.”

“Technically you had lands in Gaul though, right?” I asked, vaguely confused for a reason I had yet to put my finger on.

“Well, yes, but given that my father and I had parted on such bitter terms, Arthur thought it prudent to grant me lands and title here in Britain as well. In case.”

A thought suddenly struck me. “Lance...do you _still_ have lands in Gaul?”

He slid me a sideways look and replied, “I thought you wanted to hear about where we are going and why I chose it?”

“I do, but first I want to know if you still have lands in Gaul.”

“I do...” Lance said slowly, watching the road before us with unwarranted intensity.

I stared at him. “Weren’t you a _prince_ ?” I asked, dredging up half-forgotten details from my memory of a tearful conversation that first night we were together, things illuded to and whispered in passing in the midst of Lancelot’s broken confession of the abuse he had suffered at the hands of his father and weaponsmaster. At the time I’d had far more important things on my mind (like said heartbreaking story of Lance’s childhood), but now... “ _Lance_?”

“Yes.” he admitted sheepishly, still pointedly looking anywhere but me.

“And you were an only son...” I pressed, knowing that this was why Lancelot hadn’t been disowned when his father caught him kissing a stableboy.

Lance cleared his throat. “Yes...”

I gaped at him. “And is your father still alive?”

“No.” Such a small word, with such staggering implications.

“Lance! Did you...” _forget to mention that you are a king,_ I thought, but aloud asked, “Did you abdicate or something?”

“I tried. My cousin wouldn’t let me - but he did at least consent to be regent. And it is his children who will inherit, since I have none. Really, he is king in all but name; I will never understand why he refused to take the damn title.”

We rode in silence for a while while I attempted to marshal my thoughts. Failing that, I simply demanded, “Why the fuck did you never mention that you’re a bloody _king_?”

“Because here in Britain I really am just a landed knight...”

I glared half-heartedly at him in response to that absurd statement (he could never be “just” anything), and shifted in my saddle, my breeches suddenly uncomfortably tight. All this time and I hadn’t realized that the man who I was living with - who was fucking me, and, more to the point, whom _I was fucking_ \- was _King_ of a _bloody country_.

“Gareth...” said Lance softly, “Are you...angry at me for not saying?”

I glanced over and saw that he looked genuinely upset, hands clenched on the reins and shoulders tense. I urged my horse over so I could reach out and touch his wrist. “No, Lance,” I said emphatically, “I’m just bloody turned on by it - and mildly annoyed at myself for not realizing sooner!” I let our bond convey the rest, the complicated tangle of proud-overwhelmed-humbled that had settled not-unpleasantly in my gut. It earned me a shy smile that slid into a sly one as he processed my other feelings on the matter - a rush of power and abject pleasure, and something more complex that I couldn’t put words to but which stemmed from the thought of Lancelot on his knees in front of me, overlayed with the knowledge that he was a _king_.

Lance laughed gently. “I think that can be arranged,” he said and I looked at him in surprise still entirely unused to the increased level of detail our bond conveyed now that it went both ways.

*  *  *  *

Unfortunately, the inn we stopped at was nearly empty, and there was no reasonable excuse to share a room. Gareth and I ate in a corner of the common room, taking our time, chatting companionably and working our way through a pitcher of the most expensive wine the barkeep had (which still left something to be desired, but at least it was palatable).

I, for one, was loathe to part company with Gareth - I had gotten used to sharing my bed - but Gareth seemed oddly gleeful. He was the first to rise and indicate that he was going to go to bed. I followed him up the narrow steps, but he slipped into his room with nothing more than a smile and a “good night.” I sighed and retreated to my own cold bed.

I was very much looking forward to reaching my own keep the following day, and being able to show Gareth why I had chosen the otherwise unprepossessing little place. In the meantime, though, my mind wandered back to our earlier conversation and the _emotion-image_ I had gotten via our bond. I turned the memory over in my mind, examining it. Gareth had very strong and complex feelings about my being a King. (And really, how had he, bright as he was, not realized that? Did I hide it so well?) I tried to unravel what lay at the root of Gareth’s fascination, why his mind would immediately connect my station to the act of...well, of sucking his cock. The image had been quite explicit about that. Was it the power imbalance? I supposed it must be, since I knew from a past (immensely awkward) conversation that Gareth enjoyed that I had once been his mentor; he enjoyed the implied dynamic there, particularly in the context of that specific sex act.

I let my eyes fall closed and called to mind how it would feel to do that for Gareth - kneeling at his feet as he had pictured, rather than in bed as we had always done in the past - how it would feel to look up at him and know Gareth was looking down and seeing a _king_ . My hand slid into my breeches almost of its own volition, and I palmed my rapidly hardening cock. I had never been one to get off on embarrassment or humiliation, but somehow with Gareth it was all so damned harmless and good-natured that, well, maybe I _did_ enjoy it. I let myself sink deeper into the pleasure of the little fantasy in my head, imagined Gareth’s hands in my hair, his kind mouth smiling down at me. _What would he be saying?_ I wondered. My mind plucked the answer out of my memory of his shared emotions earlier: _Who would ever believe that the greatest Knight of the Round Table - King’s Champion and a King himself no less - would willingly get on his knees for a peasant like me?_ I came, hard and suddenly, the words pulling at something inside of me.

I lay there, gasping for breath and grappling with the idea that Gareth might (occasionally at least) see our relationship that way. Did he really still think of himself as a peasant? Was it a problem if he did? But before I could even begin to work out answers to those questions, I sank into a deep but restless sleep.

*  *  *  *

I had liked, in theory, the idea of sleeping apart from Lancelot for one night before we had two weeks to ourselves. I had thought it would make the anticipation all the better - and, sappy fool that I am, I’d be lying if I claimed not to see parallels with the night before a wedding (which was a train of thought I had to consciously choose not to pursue further for my own sanity). But now that I was alone in bed I _ached_ to be near Lance again. It was the bond, I assumed, exacerbating what I would have felt anyway. I had also probably made it worse for myself by realizing that Lance was _a king for fuck’s sake_ , and then I’d had the nerve to try to show him how much I liked that idea at a time when we couldn’t act on it. We also had not discussed it, which I was beginning to think was a problem. We had discussed precious little pertaining to our sex life, barring a single conversation months ago. And I _wanted_ to. I wanted to be able to ask him to do all sorts of things to me; and I wanted to know what _he_ fantasized about me doing to him so that I could give him those things as well.

I huffed out a breath and kicked at my blankets fussily. We _needed_ to have that conversation, and I promised myself that once we were at Lance’s estate we would do so. In the meantime, however, I wanted to sleep, and since sleep was eluding me I decided to have a bit of fun. After all, the _possibilities_ now that I knew Lancelot was a _king_ were just endless. It was fascinating enough to me that he had been born noble and risen to fame and power as Arthur’s Champion, and yet here he was, consorting with me, a peasant. Now I knew he was even farther above me. I palmed myself through my thin breeches and let my mind continue down that path.

I have never been ashamed my low birth, and the fact is that now that I am a Knight I am technically noble myself (albeit not landed). But I was born the lowest of the low, the youngest child of a serf, and during my first years in Camelot my peers did not let me forget that (at least, until Gawain allowed them to start believing I was related to him). But it continued to intrigue me, and when we gather about the Round Table I can never quite shake the thought that I am a serf sitting equal with the King. And now, with Lance, I am a serf whom a different king allows to fuck him. I was fascinated by my rise in the world and by Lancelot’s apparent obliviousness to how utterly, wonderfully absurd it was that he treated me like an equal in our daily life and worshipped me in bed.

I squirmed out of my breeches and took my rapidly hardening cock in my hand, calling to mind again the image of Lance - _King_ Lancelot - on his knees in front of me, pleasuring me with his mouth. I swallowed a moan and tightened my fist slightly. It wasn’t nearly as good as Lance sucking me off, but I had been half-hard all afternoon and the anticipation alone made it feel better than it otherwise might have. Yes, I thought muzzily as I began to drift off in my post-orgasmic haze, Lancelot and I really did need to have a conversation about all of this - it would be well-worth the awkwardness.

  



	2. Coming Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gareth and Lancelot arrive at Lance's estate, and Gareth gets an _interesting_ surprise - or rather two - in the form of Elaine and Galahad. (Cue a small bit of drama, then copious amounts of tooth-rotting fluff. Oh, and Roman baths. Roman baths make an appearance.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for the delay in getting this posted. One of my profs sprung a surprise group project on us late last week (*gags*). Midterms are coming up so I may be posting somewhat infrequently but I will be posting if at all possible. (Writing is what keeps me sane).

Lancelot indicated when we crossed into his estate in the middle of the following afternoon. We had gotten a slightly late start, neither of us having slept, well, and were both tired and somewhat put-out with the world after breakfast at the inn had left something to be desired. We both needed a couple more nights of good sleep and several good meals to fully get over the journey to Lyonesse and back. At least the weather remained warm and dry, and Lancelot’s lands were...surprisingly lovely. We came out of a forest and into a newly-planted field and Lancelot rather awkwardly told me that we were officially on his estate. The road turned shortly thereafter and began following along a narrow, rocky brook. Perhaps half an hour later, we rounded a bend, rode through a small outcropping of trees, and found ourselves within sight of the keep itself. 

The building was rather small and unprepossessing. I examined it as we rode closer, and realized that the keep was actually an old Roman villa with some good British architecture added to make it sturdier and more defensible. There was an orchard off to one side, and a few foot soldiers practicing in the field to the other. They were young, just boys, being drilled by an older man with silver hair and one leg missing from the knee down. The man happened to glance up as we rode by and waved a greeting. Lance lifted a hand in response. I smiled. It was a good sign that, in spite of the fact that Lance spent little time here, he was recognized (but not feared). 

The gates were open, (also a good sign), and we rode right in. A stable boy hurried out and took the reins of my horse when I handed them to him, but looked at Lancelot’s mount warily. Lance offered the boy a small smile. “Don’t worry. This isn’t the devil horse. He’ll behave for you.” The stable boy grinned back and led both animals into the sturdy brick stables that made up one side of the courtyard. 

“Hello, Lance,” said a very feminine voice from behind us, and we both spun around sharply, instincts still battle sharp, even if we were both too tired to be dangerously hair-triggered. But Lance clearly recognized this woman standing before us. 

“Hello, Elaine,” he replied, smiling again while I looked her up and down unashamedly. She was petite and strikingly pretty with long dark hair and big hazel eyes. She stepped forward and gave my lover a warm hug and I felt something twist oddly in my chest. And then a small hand reached up and tugged at Elaine’s skirt. 

“Mama?” 

I looked down in shock. A slightly built boy, maybe seven years old, with high cheekbones and grey eyes, was standing beside Elaine. Lance glanced at the boy too and positively grinned. “Galahad! Look at you! You’ve gotten so big!” The boy puffed up a little at that. 

“Felix had to give me a new practice sword the other day because I was too big for the other one,” Galahad said proudly. 

“Now that I can believe,” agreed Lance, “And how are your riding lessons coming?”

“Great!” enthused the boy, then, quieter, “How long are you going to be here?”

“A couple of weeks, hopefully.”

“Oh! Good! Maybe..” he scuffed his foot on the cobblestones, suddenly shy, “Do you think maybe we could go riding sometime?”

“Of course,” agreed Lancelot, still smiling warmly, the way he usually only did when talking to Arthur or I. But different too, softer. And when the boy threw himself at Lance and hugged him tight, Lancelot returned the embrace affectionately. I just stood there, dumbfounded. 

*  *  *  *

I had  not realized how much I missed Elaine and Galahad until they were standing in front of me. With one arm still around the boy’s narrow shoulders, I turned to Gareth, wanting to introduce them. But at the sight of the expression on his face I felt my own smile fade rapidly. Gareth was pale and his eyes were...haunted. “Gareth?” I asked, concerned, reaching out to him. 

He just dredged up a shaky smile and said, “I don’t think I’ve been properly introduced to, um...”

“Oh. Yes. Um.” I hadn’t expected this to be awkward. “Gareth, this is Elaine, formerly of Astolat. She does an admirable job of keeping my lands while I am gone. And this is Galahad, her son.”

Galahad offered a hand to shake, and Gareth took it somewhat uncertainly. The boy just smiled shyly, though, and asked, “Are you Sir Gareth?”

“I...I am.” Gareth, bless him, seemed surprised to be recognized. 

“Nice to meet you,” said Galahad brightly. 

Gareth nodded and agreed, but even without my hands on his skin I could tell that there was something wrong; he was painfully sad about something. Elaine, meanwhile, was looking between the two of us sharply. “Lancelot,” she said archly, “Introduce me properly why don’t you.” It was not a request. 

I felt a vague pang of something through my bond with Gareth, but obeyed Elaine. One did not generally disobey Elaine. “Gareth, I know you’ve heard that bloody song about the ‘Lady of Shalott.’ Well, Elaine is the real person behind that story. Her father locked her in a tower when she refused to marry some horrid old man. Long story short, I rescued her.”

“And Galahad...?” asked Gareth softly, eyes flicking between the boy and I. 

Elaine replied, “He’s not Lance’s, if that’s what you’re asking.” 

And it hit me why Gareth and looked so distraught.  _ Oh gods _ , I mentally berated myself,  _ Of course he’d assume that Galahad was mine _ . He was hardly the first to jump to that conclusion. I pulled Gareth into a hug, though I still didn’t let go of Galahad, who was clinging to my legs like he had no intention of moving anytime soon. “I’ll tell you the whole story later,” I promised him softly, hoping he would understand that it wasn’t something Elaine wanted her son hearing yet. 

Elaine, bless her, neatly redirected the conversation. “So, what brings you here now, Lance? Usually you only grace us with your presence when the King insists you get some rest.”

“Yes,” I agreed. 

She sighed. “Come in you can tell me while you eat. You both look like you need a few good meals and a week of sleep - which means you probably have a hell of a story to tell.” 

So saying, Elaine turned at led the way inside. I stooped and picked Galahad up before following. He was already eight years old, but he was an affectionate child (and barely weighed anything). Gareth fell into step beside me and I caught him casting me an interesting look. I made a mental note to ask him about it later. 

 

All through our meal, Galahad sat on my lap, picking food off my plate while I talked. Gareth helped tell the (short) version of our harrowing two weeks, but all the while his eyes never left me and Galahad. Perhaps he thought it odd that Galahad was so attached to me? After all, when Gareth was the age that Galahad was now, Gareth had left his family, moved to Camelot, and become a page. As far as I knew, Gareth had only seen his parents once or twice since then. 

Finally, Elaine was satisfied that Gareth and I had been fed, and that she knew at least enough of the story to sate her curiosity for the time. “Alright you two. Why don’t you go get cleaned up and get some rest. Your rooms are aired out as always, Lance.” With that she stood and swept out. Galahad clambered off my lap, gave Gareth and I a final winning smile, and ran off into the courtyard. It was dusk, but I wasn’t worried. He was a smart kid, and everyone here kept an eye on him. I stood and stretched, stiffer than I wanted to admit. I offered Gareth my hand. “Come on, I want to show you why I chose this place to be mine.” 

*  *  *  *

I followed Lancelot out of the main hall and down a corridor. The floors were still paved with mosaics, though the walls had been patched and whitewashed, presumably to insulate against the chill British winter. The effect was vaguely disorienting, like we had stepped into a slightly different world. At the end of the hall was set of engraved double doors which Lance pushed open. I was expecting to be led into Lance’s suite, but I was wrong. 

The walls of the room were tiled in mosaics, and there were two pools set into the floor, steam rising merrily. I stared around in wonder, then turned to gape at Lance. He grinned at me, like a child offering up a holiday present. “Working Roman baths.”

Soap and scented bathing oils were already set out, so we stripped out of our traveling clothes and sunk into the hot water. I groaned aloud in pleasure, and Lance looked (and felt, along our bond) just as blissful as I did. We lounged for a while, letting the heat ease the aches and tension from our bodies, then Lancelot sat up and reached for the soap and a rag and began gently washing my shoulders and back. I sighed at his touch, at the feel of him moving to sit behind me on the bench along the edge of the tub. 

“Did you really think that Galahad was...was my son?” asked Lance, somewhat out of the blue. He sounded confused, but also vaguely concerned. 

I shrugged slowly. “I suppose...he looks a bit like you. And...this is your home, Lance, and there’s this beautiful woman and adorable boy waiting for you and...”

Lance pressed a gentle kiss to the back of my neck. “Elaine was raped by the man her father wanted her to marry. That was why she refused. Then she discovered that she was pregnant, and her father locked her away. She was very...skeptical of my intentions when I rescued her and brought her here. At least in the tower she had felt relatively safe, or so she told me later.”

“All certainly understandable,” I observed, leaning back a little into Lancelot’s hands. 

He hummed his agreement, then said softly, “Elaine has no interest in men. Or in anyone as far as I know. And you know that I have no interest in women.”

“I know,” I agreed, “I just...you obviously care about him, and...I suppose that suddenly I could picture you as a father. You’d make a good one, I think.” His hands stilled and I felt surprise, pleasure, and - abruptly -  _ concern _ through our bond. “Lance? What’s wrong?”

“Is that...something you want?” he asked slowly. “I know some of your peers are now married and have children. And I’m sure you’d be a wonderful parent...And I...I suppose I’m sorry that I can’t give you that...”

“I’m not,” I said, then paused, considering if this was a conversation I really wanted to have just now. But really, it was hard to hide anything when we were sharing emotions, and I suspected that if I tried I would just cause Lance to worry. “I’ve never been able to picture myself as a parent. But I’d be lying if I said that I didn’t dream of being able to marry you.” The pleasure and shock that Lance felt at the second part of that statement brought a little smile to my lips. 

“You...you’d marry me if you could?” he stammered. 

“Of course!”

I found myself wrapped suddenly in a crushing hug, love and amazement flooding down our bond. “I wish I could give you that, love.” He was genuinely sad that he couldn’t, and I didn’t want that.

“Really, I just want everyone to be jealous that you’re all mine,” I said with a laugh, trying to lighten the mood, “I don’t need a wedding to know you love me - or to make me yours.” 

The mood shifted abruptly at those last words, possessiveness surging up in Lancelot’s chest, and pleasure rising in my gut to match. I turned around so that I was kneeling on either side of his legs rather than sitting between them, and we kissed hard. Lance’s hands slid down to rest on the sensitive places on my sides, and I squirmed. The motion brought me closer to him still, our rapidly hardening cocks rubbing together deliciously under the water. Lancelot groaned beautifully, so I did it again. 

“Ugh, I want you,” he breathed against my lips. 

“You have me,” I retorted, earning a laugh for my sappyness. 

Without breaking our kiss, Lance reached around until he found some of the conveniently placed bathing oil, and I knelt up a little so he could slide a finger gently inside of me. I was already so relaxed from the heat and pleasure that it didn’t take long before I was pushing his hand away and reaching for his cock. 

This was not the easiest or most comfortable position for this, but I wanted to do it, and the water made it easier, taking some of my weight as I sank slowly slowly down. The look on Lancelot’s face made the slight discomfort worth it too - lips parted, pupils blown wide until his eyes were nearly black. And I could feel his overwhelming awe and amazement and pleasure. I grinned and leaned in a little so I could kiss him again. He returned it passionately, shifting his hands so they were under my thighs, and then lifting his hips slightly. I moaned aloud. There was definitely something to be said for having sex like this, positioned so we could kiss easily and be pressed together, wrapped up in the heat and steam, the world outside the room feeling very far away indeed. 

*  *  *  *

Gareth and I came at the same moment, which I suspected was thanks to our bond and the way his mounting pleasure seemed to feed mine, and vice versa. I slipped out of his body as gently as I was able, and cradled him close. I liked the feel of Gareth sitting on my lap more than I was likely to ever admit - especially sleepy, sated Gareth sitting in my lap in a Roman bath, the rest of the world locked firmly away beyond the doors. I couldn’t even bring myself to feel guilty for such utter indulgence while Arthur and the others were stuck cleaning up the Lyonesse mess. We had earned it, Gareth and I.  _ More than earned it _ , I reminded myself silently, fingers brushing lightly along the edge of the scar beneath his ribs. 

I held him until we had both got our breath back a bit, then reached for another rag and a bar of scented soap and carefully washed him again. It was surprisingly soothing, satisfying a profoundly possessive urge I was only peripherally aware that I had. 

I helped Gareth out of the bath and made sure he was steady on his feet before fetching a stack of towels and drying him off. He was half asleep already, relaxed from the heat and the sex, and I wasn’t in much better shape, well and truly run down from our adventures. I eyed the pile of our dirty clothes on the floor, then decided that I didn’t have the energy to deal with them. So I bundled Gareth into a large towel, wrapped another around my waist, scooped up our weapons (old habits and all that), and guided him back out of the room. My suite was just down the hall, which was the only reason I was willing to walk around half-dressed, even in my current exhausted state. 

As we stumbled into my chambers I said a silent prayer of thanks that Elaine was a saint who kept everything aired out and dusted even when they hadn’t been used in a year. I noted that our packs had been placed by the door and offered up another silent thanks to whomever had done that. Then I bundled Gareth into bed and crawled in beside him. 

Gareth hummed happily as he snuggled into my arms. “Your beds are always so comfortable. It spoils me.” 

“Oh is that why you sleep with me?” I teased sleepily, “Because you like the beds?”

“Mm. Like you too,” he mumbled. 

I laughed tiredly. “And I like you, Gareth. Now go to sleep.” And then I proceeded to follow my own advice and drifted off almost instantly.

*  *  *  *

I woke the next morning, warm, sated, and profoundly content with life. Sunlight seeped into the room around heavy curtains, casting everything into soft golden relief; Lancelot was curled up against my back, one arm snugly around my waist; and for once neither of us had any pressing duties or obligations to pull us away. It didn’t matter how late it was, or that I didn’t actually know. I sighed happily. 

Either Lancelot was already awake, or the sound woke him, because his arm tightened around me slightly. “Good morning,” he mumbled into my hair. 

“Yes, it is,” I replied somewhat smugly. Waking up in Lance’s embrace with the promise of having him all to myself (or, at least, not having to share him with the King, Queen, and problems of the country) for several days was making me rather self-satisfied. 

Lance chuckled a little in my ear and pulled me even closer. “I’m very, very glad that Arthur sent us away for a couple of weeks,” he admitted, and he didn’t even feel guilty about it, which was surprising to me. Obviously sensing this, he explained, “We both need a rest, and we more than earned it. Even I can see that. If it was just me perhaps I would feel the need to still be in Camelot, but I'm finding that I'm rather fond of the idea of having you all to myself.”

I laughed a little. “I feel exactly the same!” I turned in his arms then and smiled at him, a perfectly dopey, love struck smile that should have made me feel foolish but didn't because Lancelot was smiling back, grey eyes dancing, the lines around them creased more deeply with mirth and joy rather than with worry, as I had become used to seeing. I kissed him, because in that moment I loved him far too much not too; and he kissed me back, our emotions surging between us overwhelmingly. 

So naturally that was when Elaine waltzed in. 

“Good morning you two!” she said brightly. 

Lance sat up and swore profanely, reaching for a weapon before realizing who it was. He gaped at the smiling woman for a moment, slowly going red with embarrassment, then demanded, “What the actual fuck?” 

“I brought you breakfast,” Elaine informed us, utterly unperturbed, “You’re welcome.” And with that she set the tray down on the nightstand and flounced, looking immensely self-satisfied with her work. 

Lance stared after her for a moment, then groaned softly. “Ahhh fuck.”

“What is it?” I asked, sitting up and leaning around to see what kind of food she had brought us. It smelled lovely and my stomach was informing me that it hadn’t had enough good food lately. 

“I just...” Lance sighed, “I didn’t even ask to have rooms aired out for you. I’m a bloody idiot. Hopefully no one but Elaine noticed. I mean, she runs the place, so it’s unlikely. But still. She’s going to be utterly insufferable now.”

“Lance,” I said, biting back a brief flash of irritation at his fretting, “First of all, hand my one of those scones, they look like heaven and smell even better. And secondly, I suspect that Elaine guessed from the moment we arrived that I wouldn’t be wanting or needing separate rooms. She didn’t offer to have any made up after all - but she  _ did  _ remind you that yours were aired out.”

“I...oh.” Lance looked contemplative as he passed me the requested scone. It was still hot and I couldn’t resist putting it to my nose and inhaling the scent of fresh-baked, sweet bread and dried fruit. 

“And she doesn’t seem like the sort to care,” I observed in an effort to quell Lance’s obvious concern, “To be honest, at this point,  _ I  _ don’t care. As long as no one here is likely to cause us trouble, they can think whatever the fuck they want.”

That earned me a little chuckle. “Fair. And really, nearly everyone who works here either was raised here, or is what Elaine calls my ‘strays’. People she or I or my previous steward rescued from bad situations and brought here to give them work they could do and a more secure life.”

“Like the arms master missing a leg?” I asked, remembering our arrival the day before. 

“Exactly. They are loyal to a fault, to be honest.”

“Perfect,” I said brightly, “That means you can stop worrying and bring that tray over here.” 

Lancelot obligingly moved the tray on to the bed between us (though he didn’t entirely stop worrying as that would have been too simple), and we proceeded to indulge in a leisurely breakfast in bed which may or may not (at my prompting) have included feeding each other some of the early strawberries that Elaine had brought us. It was sappy and wonderful and afterward I stretched out happily in a spot of sun on the bed.

“You look like a cat,” accused Lancelot with an affectionate smile. 

“I feel rather like one.” We were silent for a moment, then I asked, “So, what shall we do with the rest of the day?”

“I want another bath,” Lance admitted, “And I probably ought to check in with Elaine and the stablemaster, and everyone else who keeps this place running. I don’t really need to  _ do  _ anything, just ask how things have been and see if they need anything from me. Occasionally things come up that do need the lord - or at least my coin.”

“I’m very much in favor of another bath,” I informed him. 

Lancelot just shook his head at the smirk on my face. “Well, come on.”

*  *  *  *

Having functional Roman baths was a luxury I could rapidly get used to, I mused to myself as I sank into the hot water. Especially given my age. I suppressed a grimace at that thought and pushed it aside. The last two weeks had been especially hard on my body (and not just on my body, and not entirely for  _ normal _ reasons). So I supposed that I should make an effort not to be too hard on myself, that was probably what Gareth would tell me. 

Gareth’s hands on my shoulders distracted me and I leaned into his touch slightly. “I thought I’d return the favor from last night,” he murmured in my ear as his thumbs pressed gently into the knots in my neck. I was certainly not about to argue with that. So I relaxed into his touch, and didn’t even protest when he picked up a cloth and a bar of soap and set about washing me, though I insisted on doing the same for him once he had finished. 

It was telling of how tired we both still were that this time being naked together didn’t turn into proper sex, though we did spend several long minutes making out passionately. Gareth pressed me down onto one of the benches, crawled into my lap, and proceeded to kiss me very forcefully. I didn’t make any effort to take control of the kiss, just reached between us and took both of our water-slick cocks in my hand. Gareth moaned into my mouth as I stroked us both off efficiently. 

After, we climbed off and towelled off in companionable silence. I couldn’t resist watching as Gareth dressed, little rivulets of water still running down the sleek, lean muscles of his arms and back. Naturally, he caught me looking and  _ smirked  _ over his shoulder. “Like what you see?”

“Oh, very much,” I told him. 

“Same,” he replied, coming over and standing up on his tiptoes to give me quick, surprisingly chaste little kiss. I felt my face flush, still unused to such casual flattery. 

“I love you.” The words slipped out easily, surprising me as much as Gareth, and I blushed again. But Gareth just grinned up at me, beautiful and golden, his hair damp and tousled as his face positively angelic. 

“I love you too,” he said simply.

And I had no idea what I had done in my life to earn such utter devotion from someone as wonderful as him, but damn was I ever glad for it. 

We stood like that for a few moment, smiling dopily at each other, then finished dressing and went out to face the day - or, rather, the afternoon. 

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come say hi to me on Tumblr (I'm GwynDuLac there too). Or don't say hi, just come haunt my blog. That's cool too. Oh! And _sometimes I even post teasers/drafts of chapters over there_ ; )
> 
> Comments and kudos are love


	3. Gifts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gareth and Lancelot's first full day at Lance's estate proves to be a thoroughly enjoyable one, in spite of some misconceptions about their relationship.
> 
> (Also known as fluff, more fluff, a detour to discuss pretty horses, and then smut).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be honest, I got this up faster than I expected given the stunning amounts of classwork I've had this week. (Also, for whatever it's worth, I've been aiming for at least 4000 words per chapter. If anyone would rather shorter chapters that might get posted more frequently, drop me a comment).

While Lancelot made his rounds to catch up with the handful of people who oversaw his lands while he was away in Camelot, I decided to do a little exploring of my own. Lance had told me to make myself at home, and while it had been reasonably clear to me that he had expected me to lounge around in his (surprisingly sumptuous) bed chamber, I had every intention of getting out a bit. It was a lovely sunny May afternoon, and from the glimpses I had gotten the villa and lands were picturesque. After sleeping so much I was beginning to feel antsy and wanted to see more of Lancelot’s home. So I dug into our packs and pulled out clothes. We had packed good, practical clothes, a single “nice” outfit in case we needed to look part for a day, and, I discovered, the Queen had managed to slip in a couple of new things as well, practical clothes that were simply exceptionally finely made. (I was used to reasonably nice clothes because the King naturally made sure his knights, even poor unlanded ones like me, were presentable). But these were different - black leather breeches tanned until they were so soft that they were like cotton, a pale grey cotton shirt as soft as silk, and a quilted doublet trimmed in leather with clasps offset up one side in the style Lancelot preferred. I smiled and pulled them on, enjoying the feel of fine fabric against my skin, and couldn’t resist admiring myself in the polished brass mirror once I had laced up my cavalry boots as well. I had a sneaking suspicion that Lance would quite like this outfit; in the meantime, I was going to enjoy my fine clothes on a fine day, in a beautiful villa. (It all felt vaguely dreamlike, though rather that was because I had never in all my years with Lance seen him outside of his role as King’s Champion, or because I was a peasant plunked down in a place fit for a prince, or simply because the last weeks had been surreal and this was merely an extension of that I would probably never know). 

As I wandered around, locating kitchens and guest rooms and a sort of library or scribe’s workroom, I encountered a handful of staff - maids and the like. And almost to a person they stared at me. At first, in a moment of vanity, I thought it was the fine clothes, or their curiosity about a Knight other than Lancelot. But then I realized that none would quite meet my eyes - and not in the deferential way of servants. I found myself lounging on a bench in a little garden by the orchard when it finally hit me what was going on - and then I was torn between laughing out loud and flushing with utter embarrassment. Here I was, visibly younger than Lance, finely dressed, and sharing his bedroom. I bit back a bemused smile and went to find my lover so I could break the news to him that people had indeed noticed our little indiscretion of the night before - but come to a  _ slightly _ different conclusion than perhaps we would have expected (though really, I silently admonished myself for not foreseeing this). 

Lancelot was standing just outside the stables, speaking to a man in a blacksmith’s apron, when I sidled up to them. The blacksmith glanced at me, visibly blushed, and hurriedly finished his conversation with Lancelot. My lover watched him leave, and I in turn watched as Lance’s grey eyes swept over the courtyard, taking in the horse tethered nearby, the stable boy sitting on a stool cleaning a harness, and the two women washing clothes who were whispering and casting us sideways glances every few moments. Lancelot gave me a vaguely curious look, as if I might have the answer to the sudden strange behavior of those around us. I smiled the angelic smile that he had once told me was both the most and least innocent of my expressions. “They think I’m your kept boy,” I explained to him with no preamble, mostly for the entertainment value of watching the color drain from Lance’s face, then flood back in a rush as his mouth opened and closed several times, but no sound came out. I waited patiently until he appeared to be nearly recovered from his shock enough to speak, then added, “I don’t mind, particularly, but it might not hurt if you occasionally actually introduced me as Knight...” Lancelot glanced down, shamefaced. 

“I’m so sorry, Gareth. Yesterday I...I just didn’t think. I’m usually so careful but we got here and I let my guard down and-”

“It really is alright,” I assured him, “As long as you trust everyone’s discretion. In fact...I find it rather... amusing.” And that was the truth. Wrapped up in this strange dream-world of Lancelot’s estate I didn’t even mind particularly if most of the staff thought I was, not to put too fine a point on it, a pretty young thing that Lance pampered in return for sex. Then another, largely unrelated thought struck me. “Did you notice feeling any different when we were apart today?”

“You mean for all of an  _ hour _ ?” he responded, slightly incredulously, and it was true, we had only been out of each other’s sight for a very brief period of time. But I nodded. Lance shrugged. “To be honest, I feel so much better than I did a few days ago that I’m not sure I’d notice if there were a few remaining side effects.”

“It’s just...” I began slowly, thinking, “I did feel  _ different _ being away from you - and it wasn’t particularly pleasant. But really, I didn’t feel half as bad as I would have expected to.”

“Good,” said Lance with a relieved smile, reaching out and giving my shoulder a gentle squeeze. I had to suppress a full-blown grin at that, because I loved that he was becoming more physically affectionate. When we had first started sleeping together he would barely touch me if I didn’t initiate it. 

Another giggle from maids doing the washing brought us both back to the present though, and Lancelot’s face darkened slightly. “We need to do something about that. You may be alright with it, but I’m not.”

“Fair enough.”

“We should spar,” said Lance suddenly, and it took me a moment to make the connection. I  _ was  _ a Knight of the Round Table, after all, and I had my leather armor embossed with the insignia of it. Not to mention that I was one of the very few people in the country who could hold my own against Lancelot. Even if it didn’t entirely change how people viewed our relationship, it would reinforce the idea that I was a lot more than just Lancelot’s (scandalous) lover. 

I nodded my agreement, but said, “Not today. We’re both still tired and sore. Tomorrow morning maybe. We can do some proper training.”

“Alright,” agreed Lancelot, “And in that case what would you like to do with the rest of today?”

“Well,” I said, lowering my voice so only he could hear, “Part of me would very much like to go crawl back into bed and have my way with you, but I think we should probably wait at least until this evening for that. You know, actually put in an appearance around here for a few hours first.” Lance blushed faintly and I added at a more normal volume, “Perhaps Galahad would like to go for a ride. He seemed rather excited about that idea yesterday.”

My lover visibly perked up at that. “Yes, that would be lovely. And I’ve been wanting to take out some of the new horses.” I had been assuming that Lance and I at least would ride our warhorses. Something to that effect must have showed on my face, for Lance smiled at me almost like he had when he had shown me the baths. “Didn’t I ever mention that I keep a stable of exceptionally good horses? Half the Knights’ horses - as well as Arthur’s favorite hunter and Guinevere’s new filly - are all from here, and trained by my stablemaster and his son.” Well. That was interesting. And very promising. 

Lancelot turned to the stable boy. “Do you happen to know where Galahad is?”

The lad thought for a moment, then said, “Mayhaps with his mother doing lessons. If not, prolly with Cook.” I suppressed a chuckle at his odd but endearing mix of formal and informal speech. 

“Could you go find him and ask him if he'd like to go for a ride? If he’s with his mother, make sure she doesn’t mind him leaving his lessons.” 

The stable boy scurried off, and Lance gestured me into the cool dimness of the stables. The L-shaped building actually formed most of two walls of courtyard, with an attached paddock on one side. The doors to the stable were all thrown open in the fine May weather, but most of the horses were in their stalls. I paused momentarily to breath in the comforting, familiar scents - hay and sweat and that odd undefinable quality that stables have - then followed Lance down to the far end of this wing of the building. 

At the end of the stable were several large box stalls, three of which were occupied by big beautiful stallions. “Take your pick,” Lance said, favoring me again with that wonderful, open smile. It seemed like with our new bond he was being more affectionate, and I certainly couldn’t complain about that. I smiled back, then turned to admire the gorgeous animals before me. One was all black, almost certainly bred to be one of Lancelot’s famously imposing (and ill-tempered) battle steeds. Another was a big bay who tossed his head as if to show off the striking white blaze on his nose. He bore a certain resemblance to both Gawain’s and Bedivere's current war horses. And the third was was a more elegantly built (but still tall and imposing) dappled grey with a nearly white mane and tail. My eyes lingered on him, thinking that such a striking horse was likely intended for the King. If Lance meant for me to exercise one of these animals today, I supposed it would only make sense for me to take the bay. And still I couldn’t take my gaze from the grey. 

“That is Xiphos. My Ash sired him about three years ago now, so he’s nearly fully trained. Also better-tempered than Ash, as it so happens.”

“He’s beautiful,” I murmured, admiring him, but not reaching out since only a fool would put their hand anywhere near the mouth of a strange warhorse. It was a sure way to get bit. “That name sounds...oddly familiar....”

“Ancient Greek sword,” offered Lance by way of explanation, “Arthur named him - who else would name horse a word in a dead language?”

I laughed a little, but couldn’t quite suppress a pang of disappointment. “So, he’s the King’s then?”

“He’s no one’s yet.” There was a pause, then Lance suddenly said, “Here,” and took a bridle off a peg by the stall door. I watched as he carefully gave Xiphos a moment to recognize him, then slipped the bridle on deftly and opened the door to guide the animal out. He introduced the two of us since Xiphos, like all the best warhorses, had been trained to respond only to certain people, and people those people had indicated could be trusted. With that done, Lance glanced over at me and murmured, “You two get to know each other and I’ll go get his tack.”

“Wait, what?” I demanded, and Xiphos snorted in annoyance. 

Lance gave me a confused look. “What?”

“You’re going to let me ride him today?”

My lover stared at me blankly for a moment, then said, “I was going to give you a chance to ride him and see what you think, then, if you like him enough, I was going to give him to you. You’re in need of a new warhorse.”

I gaped at him, astounded. A gift of a warhorse was no small thing - in fact, it was a huge thing. My first warhorse had been given to me by the King when I was knighted since at the time I could never have afforded one but as a Knight of the Round Table having a good mount was something of a necessity. But that was six years ago and he was getting old now; I had begun looking for a new warhorse, but a good one was going to put me out a year’s salary. “Lance, I...I can’t let you do that...” 

“Why not,” he asked, coming back to stand beside me, looking perhaps a little hurt, “You need a new warhorse. I have three - probably five by the end of the summer - why shouldn’t I give you one?”

“B-because...Lance, they’re each worth a small fortune! In fact, they’re worth a pretty substantial fortune given the way they’re trained!”

He shrugged with an easy elegance that was one of his few features that spoke of a noble (royal) upbringing. “I can afford it. And I want to do this for you. Why shouldn’t I?” I didn’t have a good answer for that, other than that it was simply  _ too much _ . So I said so. Lancelot gave me a gently smile and a kiss on the forehead, utterly astounding me with such an easy display of affection. “Nothing is too much for you. Now, let’s go for a ride and we’ll talk about a new horse for you later.” With that, he turned and disappeared into the tack room. I stared after him for a moment, then looked back to Xiphos. 

“You a very beautiful boy,” I told him, rubbing his velvety nose, “But Lance is far, far too generous. No wonder people think I’m his kept boy, hm? He spoils me terribly.”

“I don’t spoil you enough,” Lance corrected me, reappearing and tossing an embossed black saddle over Xiphos’ back. I blushed, but was saved from finding a reply by the appearance of Elaine and Galahad. 

“Good afternoon,” she said warmly. 

“Hello there,” replied Lance, then to Galahad, “So, would you like to come riding with us?”

“Yes please!” replied the lad brightly, then, slightly more subdued, as if he were trying to get a handle on his enthusiasm, “And Mama says I may.”

“Good. Go get your horse then.”

Galahad hurried off, and Lancelot turned to Elaine. “Thank you for letting him do this.”

“Thank you for taking him, We both know how much it means to him.”

“I...” Lance glanced down awkwardly, “I’m a little surprised that you’re willing to let him go with us, given...well, some of the assumptions people appear to be making about Gareth and I...”

“Sweetheart, I already know you are lovers...”

“That’s not what he means,” I said softly. 

Elaine snorted. “Well, I  _ dare  _ anyone to imply that there is anything untoward about your relationship with my son.” Her tone alone was enough to convince me that anyone who dared wouldn’t survive the attempt, and I swallowed a smile.

Galahad reappeared then, leading a small chestnut filly by the reins. She was already saddled as well, and I had to admit that I was impressed by his efficiency. I knew knights who took longer to saddle and bridle their mounts. Lance’s smile said the same. 

“Ready?” he asked the boy. 

Galahad nodded emphatically, then his eyes slid sideways to me and he asked shyly, “Are you coming as well, Sir Gareth?”

“If you don’t mind,” I replied, mentally reeling at how odd it sounded to be called by my actual title, since few ever bothered outside of truly formal situations. 

“No! I don’t mind!” I was vaguely surprised by his obvious enthusiasm. 

Elaine smiled and made her way to the door, saying brightly over her shoulder, “You boys have fun!”

* * * *

It was a truly lovely spring day, sunny and pleasantly warm, but breezy enough that we did not overheat from our exertions as we rode along at a trot through the little woods by the brook. I kept a close eye on both of my companions - Galahad because it had been a year since I had seen him ride and I was curious, and Gareth because I wanted to know how he was managing Xiphos (the horse may have been more even-tempered than its sire, but that wasn’t saying much given that Ash had nearly taken my hand off on more than one occasion). 

I was pleased to see that Galahad rode beautifully, and guided the filly, his first proper horse, with a firm but gentle hand. He rode better than many adults I knew, and it made me smile. Gareth, meanwhile was clearly very focused on Xiphos, but I thought I could read in the set of his shoulders and light in his eyes, that he was impressed. The warhorse was certainly taking well to  _ him _ , which was nice to see. I really did want to make a gift of Xiphos to Gareth; he needed new warhorse and deserved as fine a one as Xiphos. Not to mention that they made a truly gorgeous pair. I would probably have spent considerably more time admiring them, except my own mount, the big black intended to replace Ash’s successor, had a mind to test me. 

It was a thoroughly enjoyable way to spend the afternoon, putting the horses through their paces on the neatly kept trails. Galahad and his little filly kept up admirably; Gareth and Xiphos moved like they had been working together for a year already; and by the time we were back within sight of the keep Equinox had finally settled down, having accepted that I was a good enough (and stubborn enough) rider to stay on his back and keep him in hand - no matter how many times he tried to rub me off on a tree or unseat me with a stutter-step or small buck.  

It wasn’t until we dismounted and I noticed that the sun was sinking behind the keep that I realized just how long we had spent on horseback. Gareth swung easily down from Xiphos (damn that horse was tall), and patted his neck warmly, murmuring endearments. Xiphos tossed his head as if to say ‘yes, I am a very handsome and intelligent horse’, and I bit back a laugh. Equinox, meanwhile, attempted to take advantage of my distraction and got his teeth into the shoulder of my leather doublet. I turned my head and gave the horse a Look that had him backing up a step. (What can I say, I breed my warhorses for smarts as much as anything else). Galahad too looked mighty pleased with himself, and  _ I  _ was pleased when he set about unsaddling and rubbing down his filly without being asked. He was such a responsible lad, and watching him move confidently around the horse, still practically glowing with the excitement of the afternoon, did funny things to my chest. My mind wandered back to my conversation with Gareth and I couldn’t help but wonder again if he would someday want children of his own. 

“Copper for your thoughts?” 

I started a little and glanced sideways to find Elaine standing at my elbow. “You have a very fine son,” I said after a moment of thought. 

“Why thank you. Though I think you deserve at least a little credit. And I’m guessing you deserve at least a little credit for how Gareth turned out as well.”

I made a face at that, not enjoying the implicit comparison being made there. Noticing, Elaine smacked my arm lightly. “Lighten up. I’m not judging.”

“No, it’s just...” I sighed, “Ah, gods...Gareth would have been Galahad’s age when we first met each other. He became my squire some years after that, and I swear nothing happened between us until quite recently. But...all the same...”

Elaine gave my shoulder a little squeeze. “You want my advice?” I said nothing since I knew from past experience that I would get it rather I wanted it or not, and I was curious to hear what Elaine had to say. “Don’t overthink things so much. You have a beautiful young lover who obviously adores you. From what I can see your life is going quite well all around - King in Gaul, Champion here, still ridiculously handsome even at 40...” I laughed a little at that and she did too. “In all seriousness, Lance, try to lighten up and enjoy yourself more. It would do you good.” 

“I...I’ll try,” I replied, since that was the best I could honestly do. 

“Good. Now go wash up for dinner.” 

Gareth and I retreated to the baths, and this time I had the presence of mind to lock the door behind us.  Watching Gareth ride all day had been  _ thoroughly  _ enjoyable, and his reaction to me wanting to gift him Xiphos made me want to convince him that he deserved everything I could give him. I stripped off my heavy doublet and boots, already sweating in the steamy heat of the room, then paused to watch Gareth do the same. He was slightly flushed from the exertion of riding, his hair windblown, and eyes bright but slightly lidded - I knew him I well enough to know he was pleasantly tired, and I felt the same. Something soft and warm unfurled in my chest at the sight of him. 

Apparently feeling me watching, Gareth glanced over and flashed me a quick, charming smile, then, still pointedly looking at me, he continued undressing. I loved seeing his confidence in his own body, especially since in his early years as a squire he had been self-conscious of his smaller, slighter build. Without really thinking, I closed the distance between us and kissed him. Gareth’s hands slid under my shirt with easy familiarity and I moaned softly, pulling him closer. He smelled of sweat and horse and fresh air and something that was uniquely  _ Gareth _ , and it sent pleasure and desire spiraling through my gut. 

I let Gareth help me out of my shirt, but when he reached for the laces on my breeches I pushed his hands away and instead backed him up against a convenient wall. Gareth made a questioning little noise against my mouth and I answered it by sinking carefully to my knees. I did it as gracefully as possible, and the sound that it drew from Gareth’s mouth was sinful and entirely worth the effort. I pressed my nose into the crease of his thigh, resisted the urge to suck a mark there, and then sat back slightly. “You liked the horse, yes?”

I could feel Gareth’s flash of confusion as he tried to pull his mind back to proper conversation - and then wondered why we were talking about it  _ now _ . “Y-yes...”

“I’d like to give him to you.” So saying, I nosed at him again, kissing and licking for a moment in an effort to distract him. I was very much enjoying the backwash of emotions from him, the growing pleasure and bubbling amazement below the surface. He liked me on my knees like this, and he trusted me enough to go along with this discussion in the expectation that I had a point. Which I did, in fact. “I know you think it’s too big a gift, but I want you to have a good horse so that you’re safe.” So saying I pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the inside of his thigh. “And,” I added, looking up through my lashes at him (and feeling the jolt that went through him at the image of me like that), “I  _ can _ afford it. After all, I’m a  _ king _ , Gareth.” 

The pleasure - hot and liquid - that flooded through him drew a gasp from  _ me _ , and utterly winded my lover. I couldn’t help but smile a little, immensely pleased that I had had such an effect upon him. Then I wrapped my lips around his cock. Gareth’s knees very nearly gave way, and he would have fallen if not for my firm grip on his hips. 

This was not (usually) my favorite activity. But I knew Gareth enjoyed it so I took pleasure in it for that reason. This time, however, was different, because I could  _ feel  _ Gareth’s pleasure, feel the churn of his emotions. It was bloody brilliant, indescribably intimate and, thanks to the little fantasy playing out in his head, wonderful filthy. I leaned in closer and poured all of my attention into making it as good as possible for him (and, by extension, for myself), all the while following the swirl of his thoughts and feelings. He was sinking into the image he had shared with me on the journey here, drowning in the idea that he, a serf, was being pleasured by a king. And I was enjoying it just as much as he was, the sharp humiliation in my gut making everything somehow  _ better _ . With anyone but Gareth I couldn’t have done this, but with him I loved every moment of it, even when he spilled down my throat with no warning. 

Gareth slumped against the wall, gasping for breath and trembling slightly. I got gingerly back to my feet, wincing as my knees protested my abuse of them. I was old enough that my body did not appreciate kneeling on a tiled floor for long minutes. (In truth, though, I physically felt surprisingly good today - or perhaps it was simply that in comparison to being at death’s door just about anything felt good by comparison). 

I smiled at my lover and leaned in to give him a kiss, the taste of his lips mingling with the taste of his seed in my mouth. He moaned softly again and pulled me closer, tangling his fingers in my hair. I shivered a little at the feeling, my own untouched cock twitching. “Gods, I love you,” Gareth breathed when we parted slightly. He leaned his head against my chest, drew his hands down my back, and pressed closed. Gareth was always cuddly after sex, and I for one very much enjoyed that particular trait of his. “Gods I love you and you are amazing and I’ve no idea what I did to deserve you but  _ fuck  _ that was fantastic,” he breathed fervently against my skin. I chuckled a little, appreciative of the sentiment, though if one of us didn’t deserve the other it was most definitely me that didn’t deserve Gareth. I decided not to spoil the moment by pointing that out. 

“I’m glad you enjoyed it,” I murmured, nuzzling at his hair. Gareth was the only lover I had ever had that made me so physically affectionate, and the impulse seemed only to be growing stronger with our bond.

“Mm,” he hummed, then drew back and looked up at me, adorably concerned. “You enjoyed it too, didn’t you?”

“Oh, absolutely,” I assured him with a positively filthy smile. He grinned back, then took my hand and led me over to the bath. 

We washed each other gently, and Gareth took the opportunity to sit on my lap and wrap his hand around my hard cock and lean in to whisper filthy things in my ear. His fingers were altogether too clever, and I suspected him of making use of our bond (and his unfairly extensive knowledge of me) to know just exactly what to do and say to bring me off fast and  _ hard _ . The orgasm, coupled with our physical exertions earlier and the somewhat emotional blow job I had given Gareth, left me feeling pleasantly tired and just the right side of wrung out. By the time we climbed out of the water and redressed, I was very much looking forward to a hot meal and then a long night of sleep with Gareth in my arms. 

I paused before unlatching the door and gave Gareth one last thorough kiss. “I like it when you’re like this,” he said earnest, looking up at me with a wide-eyed expression that made him look rather younger than I was entirely comfortable with. 

“Like what?” I asked, confused.

“All...I don’t know, affectionate and relaxed. It’s nice, and you seem happier. I like it when you’re happy.”

I blushed a little, surprisingly undone by Gareth’s simple words. “I...don’t really know what to say to that...”

“You don’t have to say anything,” he told me, leaning up and giving me a quick kiss on the nose. I scrunched my face up instinctively, and Gareth laughed at me. “You don’t have to say anything; I just wanted you to know.” And before I could come up with a response, he opened the door and stepped out into the hallway, adding over his shoulder, “Now come on! I’m starving!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My plan is to get to the kink negotiation in the next chapter because that has needed to happen since like the middle of Part II. But they're just so much fun that I keep getting distracted. 
> 
> My tumblr is GwynDuLac. (Friendly reminder that I post previews and stuff there.) Come say 'hi' and give me story ideas!
> 
> Comments and kudos are love ; )


	4. Something to Say

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance and Gareth need to talk (no, not in a bad way). They also still don't talk as much as they should because sex happens. 
> 
> AKA oh look that kink negotiation tag suddenly starts to make a bit more sense.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all: my _deepest_ apologies for the month long delay in posting. Real life happened (aka I got sick, and then had exams, and then more exams). 
> 
> This chapter proved way more challenging to write than I was expecting. I started over once. And I finally decided that I just needed to post it and move on because I'm really looking forward to writing the next chapter.

Dinner was...strange. Good, but strange. At least for me. Lance looked very much at home (which was, admittedly, half the reason I found the whole situation odd). He was relaxed, and he smiled much more freely than he ever did in Camelot. Dinners here weren’t formal affairs, and everyone simply ate in the main hall at long tables, served by the cook and (it seemed) a handful of rotating volunteers from the rest of the staff. There was a smaller table set at the front of the room at right angles to the others. It was situated like a head table, but was not on a dias, and had chairs all around it, not just on one side. This was where the ‘family’ ate - and that was the other part of the meal that my mind found decidedly hard to comprehend: I was clearly part of the (admittedly rather odd and eclectic) family made up of Elaine and Galahad and Lancelot. 

Lancelot sat in the middle on the side facing the rest of the room, like a proper lord (I nearly choked on my wine at that thought), and he put me on his left, his shield-side. In Camelot, Lancelot sat to Arthur’s left because that was the Champion’s place, on his lord’s otherwise-undefended shield-side. Elaine and Galahad sat across from us with their backs to the room so we could talk more easily, since propriety was clearly not a concern here. Also at the head table, by Lance’s specific invitation, were the weaponsmaster and the stablemaster. And once all the food had been served, the Cook joined us, taking up a place at one end nearest the door to the kitchens. There was no steward or seneschal since the estate was reasonably small and run by Elaine’s clearly very competent hand. 

Although there were others at the table, the four of us in the middle were clearly the core of it, and I felt unexpectedly warm and accepted. Yes, some in the hall were still casting me odd looks, but I wasn’t much concerned by that. Meanwhile, beneath the table Lance’s leg was pressed against mine, and the food before me was flavorful and filling, and conversation flowed freely all around. I ate in silence, listening contentedly as Lance chatted brightly with Elaine and the others. They had talked business that morning; now they were just catching up on the more general goings-on of the estate. By all rights, I should probably have felt excluded since the conversation revolved around people and places I had never heard of. But it was hard to feel that way when Lance had seated me in pride of place beside him, and was absently moving his foot against mine. (Not to mention the ridiculously perfect fantasy he had played out for me in the baths not so long ago). 

It was clear to me that someone (Elaine) had been sending Lancelot fairly frequent and very detailed updates on his lands and the people who populated them since my lover asked after particular individuals and places and events with an ease I would have expected from natural leaders like Arthur or Gawain, but not from notoriously surly and taciturn Lancelot. Incidentally, I learned a great deal about his lands and their people just by listening. There were two small villages (one of which we had passed on our ride); one of the main pastures flooded every spring and there was talk of the need to ‘finally do something about it’. As far as the people, Lancelot was assured that nearly everyone was doing well. The blacksmith’s son-in-law (a boy named Alan) was recovering from a bout of some very nasty illness that had nearly killed him during the winter, and the weaponsmaster’s granddaughter had gotten married. At that last bit of news, Lancelot looked vaguely surprised. “Good gods how old is Mary now?”

“Nineteen last fall,” replied the weaponsmaster, “She married that charming lad you rescued from the Saxons a while back.” I resisted the urge to give Lance a Look. He had such a good heart, and he hid it so well most of the time. 

Looking to Elaine, Lance said, “Were they given a new cottage?”

“Naturally,” she replied, then, seeing my confusion, explained, “Lancelot sees to it that that any of his tenants who marry get a new cottage and a plot of land of their own.”

Now I  _ did _ give Lance a look, but more one of quiet amazement. He was an even more generous lord than I would have expected. My lover looked vaguely embarrassed and changed the subject, turning to Galahad and asking, “And how have your lessons been going?” 

Galahad was more than happy to spend the rest of the meal chatting brightly about his Latin and arithmetic lessons, as well as the letters Lance apparently made a habit of sending every few weeks with news from Camelot (a way for him to practice reading, and to learn some of the basics of politics, I realized as he talked). I glanced sideways at Lance, who was listening to Galahad more attentively than I had seen him listen to visiting monarchs, and felt myself fall in love with him a little more. 

The incredible thing for me, however, was the sense of  _ belonging _ . I had friends in Camelot, but, aside from the very rare occasions that I spent time alone with the Orkney Princes, I didn’t have much experience being included in a family dynamic. I liked it, in a bittersweet sort of way. I liked seeing Lancelot at ease, and I liked Galahad’s childish energy and enthusiasm coupled with Elaine’s brusk fondness. 

I was almost sad when the meal was over, but the knowledge that I got to go back to Lance’s room with him made me feel all warm inside. Dinner had left me wrapped in a sort of comfortable lassitude, and so as the door closed behind us I slipped my arms around Lance’s waist and leaned up to give him a chaste little kiss on the side of the mouth, just wanting to be near him. We changed out of our finery and into loose trousers and shirts, neither of us quite ready yet to call it a night, but wanting to be comfortable. There was a large fireplace in the room, in the wall opposite the bed, with a thick rug in front of it, as well as a Roman couch and an armchair. Although the days were now quite warm, the nights were still chilly, and so there was a fire crackling away merrily in the hearth. 

In a moment of slightly silly impulsiveness I grabbed several of the pillows and a heavy blanket off the bed and dumped them on the rug in front of the fire, arranging them into a sort of nest while Lancelot looked on in fond amusement. But when I stretched out on the makeshift bed and smiled at him, he joined me without a word, crawling over me and nuzzling at the side of my neck before kissing me briefly. 

“Have something in mind, do you?” he chuckled.

“Maybe,” I conceded. “Actually, I wanted to say ‘thank you’ again. For earlier.” 

He gave me a shy smile which I knew would ever get enough of and admitted, “Even since you... _ showed _ me that...idea. I...I couldn’t get it out of my head.” 

“So you enjoyed it? I mean, it  _ felt _ like you did.”

“I did.”

I gave him a Look, sensing that there was more on his mind. “So...what did you enjoy about it?”

“Wh-why?”

Ah. There it was. The fact that he didn’t want to talk about it made me think we probably  _ should _ talk about it. In fact, there were several things we should probably talk about regarding our relationship, there just hadn't been a moment to do so up to this point. “Come, Lance, talk to me. I want to _ understand _ what you like so that we can do more of it.”

“O-oh...” He was surprised by that, which made me a bit sad. 

“Lance, of course I want to do things to make you feel good. You want to do the same for me.” I knew this to be a fact since it had been alluded to in the past. He liked taking care of me and making me feel good. I didn’t quite understand why he would be surprised that I would feel the same. I waited until he nodded his agreement, then insisted gently, “Come, Lance, tell me. You never need to be embarrassed with me, love.” I rarely resorted to pet names, but it seemed appropriate in this case. Lance was adorable when he blushed, but I resisted the urge to get distracted by the fact. “Come,” I said gently,  “You know why  _ I  _ find it attractive. I’m not embarrassed by that...” 

“Right, I...I just...” He bit his lip and lowered his head to rest on my shoulder. “For some reason I don’t really I understand, I quite like it because of why  _ you  _ like it. The...the power imbalance, if that's the right word for it. I mean, I like doing things you enjoy and I know that is one of them, but also I...” He sighed. “I don’t like being humiliated, and yet with you in some situations I guess I do.”

“And I very much like that fact. But you said ‘situations.’ What others come to mind?” 

I could feel his embarrassment and tried to send encouragement and love back. “Tell me and I’ll tell you a couple of things I’ve been thinking about.” 

“Umm...I...” I threaded my fingers through his hair soothingly and felt him relax minutely. “I quite like it when...well...when you fuck me,” he admitted all in a rush. 

I hid a smile. “No reason to be ashamed of that. After all, do you think there’s anything wrong with me enjoying it when you make love to me?” 

“No!” He exclaimed, pulling back enough to look down at me, “No! Of course not1” I raised one eyebrow pointedly and Lance protested weakly, “It’s...different...”

“How?” I asked, trying very hard to keep my tone neutral because I was just genuinely curious. In response, Lance let me  _ feel  _ what he meant. It was such a tangled knot of emotion that it took me long moments to begin to make sense of it.

The foremost memory in his mind was of the morning at the inn on the way back to Camelot from Lyonesse, the way I had firmly told him what to do, had pressed him face down into the bed, ordered him to stop squirming. He had liked that, liked the way it had quieted all the stress in his mind, but also had enjoyed the knowledge that I was younger and had been his squire. He viewed himself as being somewhat responsible for me (or at least he was inclined to do so), and so in his mind it went in some way against the ‘logical’ order of things for me to fuck him. It made embarrassment twist in his gut in a delicious way - he was getting hand just thinking about it, and I could feel secondary desire pooling in my gut. It wasn’t that he actually saw anything inherently wrong with that state of affairs, with being on the receiving end of sex, which made me feel better. It was just that the power dynamic affected him (much as it affected me). 

I turned my head and kissed Lance’s hair. “Alright, I understand all of that. Thank you for sharing.”

He made a noncommittal noise, then said, “So. Your turn.”

I felt myself blush. “Um. Right.” I took a breath and decided to start with the less embarrassing thing to get a sense of how Lance would react. “Well. Let me start by saying that I love how... _ tender _ you are with me. It’s...it’s flattering and sweet and it makes me feel safe and loved and it's wonderful. With that said...it would be fun if you weren’t like that sometimes. You are bigger and stronger than me and I like that and...” I decided that saying  _ I want you to manhandle me _ wouldn’t be smart here so instead I made use of our bond to show him some of what I wanted - being crowded up against a wall, pressed down onto the bed. I wanted to feel Lance’s physical power. 

“O-oh. Right. I...thank that can be arranged,” Lance said with a surprised little laugh. 

“Good,” I smirked, squirming a little underneath him and kissing him again. He kissed me back firmly, cradling my head. When we came up for air, I braced myself, then murmured against his lips, “And how would you feel about tying me up?” I felt his flash of confusion and concern, and hurried to go on, “You can say no, and I don’t...I don’t think I could handle being tied  _ to  _ anything, I’d feel too vulnerable. But just my wrists tied together might be...fun.” 

Lance was quiet, thinking. “If it’s something you want we can certainly talk about it.”

“Alright,” I agreed, fully content with that. 

He huffed and shook his head a little. “I couldn’t handle being tied up I don’t think. Not at all.”

“Understandable,” I agreed. “I know I hate the idea of being blindfolded...”

“I...hadn’t thought about that but...I think as long as my hands are free so I could take it off if I needed...”

“Alright, I’m happy to do that for you Maybe...” I considered, “Maybe you will let me blindfold you and make love to you.” I hoped that my feelings on the matter conveyed that ‘fucking’ and ‘making love’ were quite different in this case. I wanted to lay Lance out on his back on that big luxurious bed of his - or maybe right here by the fire - and kiss him all over and make love to him while watching the expression on his face. I wanted to worship him like he did to me. 

Lance shuddered in my arms and I got the distinct sense that the idea made him feel vulnerable, though in in a way that he was curious to experience with me. “Maybe  _ that _ is how we should spend the rest of tonight - here by the fire....”

“Not until you tell me what else is on your mind.” 

*  *  *  *

During the entirety of our conversation, I could tell that there was something very specific  which Gareth wanted to tell me, but he was nervous about it. “Like you told me earlier - no need to be embarrassed.”

“This is...different, especially since...I think it might bother you because of your father and weaponsmaster...”

I blinked in confusion, unable to fathom what possible connection could exist. “I...don’t understand...”

“I know they beat you and...I...” Gareth swallowed hard, closed his eyes, then said all in a rush so fast I almost couldn’t make out the words, “Because I want you to spank me.” 

Oh. Well then. That was...interesting. 

“I want you to put me over your lap and spank me. Not because you’re mad or punishing me, just because the idea makes me feel safe, as strange as that sounds. Please don’t laugh at me.” 

Gareth still had his eyes closed, and I realized with a start that he really was afraid of my reaction. I stroked his cheek gently. “You know, this sharing emotions and ideas thing is pretty useful. I’m not sure I’d understand otherwise, but...I do. I can see the appeal, in a sort of...secondhand way.” I could. It was not something I ever would have come up with in my own mind, but the backwash of his emotions let me see why he liked the idea - he trusted me and respected me, and, much as I had enjoyed the embarrassment of being on my knees for him earlier, he wanted to feel the helplessness of being held over my lap. “I can tell it’s important to you,” I added, because it was, and because it had obviously taken a lot for him to share that with me. He opened his eyes slowly and gave me a cautious smile, looking terribly terribly young and angelic for a moment. I kissed his forehead. “It’s alright little one, you can always-”

“-can we talk about you calling me that?”

“Um. Yes? What’s the matter?”

“Just...can you tell me why you call me that?” 

“I...never thought about it much. I guess because you are sort of little. And cute. Why? Does it bother you?”

Gareth shrugged a bit and made a face. “I just...worry that you...I don’t now...still see me as a bit of a child sometimes...”

“Wh- no! No.  _ Definitely not _ ,” I said as emphatically as I could without raising my voice. 

Gareth looked at me closely, then nodded. “Good. In that case you can keep calling me that.” It was said in the tone of a pronouncement, and I couldn’t help but chuckle a little. 

“Alright then  _ little one _ . What was that about me spanking you?” I took some effort to say that with a straight face, and watching Gareth’s face flush and his eyes dilate was very, very worth it. “Is that what you want right now?”

“Mm...actually, I rather want to make love to you.” 

As close as we were laying, there was no way for me to hide how much I liked that idea - even if we hadn’t been sharing emotions, which we were. This conversation probably needed to be continued at a later date, but at the moment I had other priorities, and it seemed Gareth did too. He grinned up at me pushed at me shoulders gently. “Up. We’re not doing this on the floor - even though your rug is surprisingly comfortable.”

I was actually rather touched by that sentiment, although I did rather like the idea of making love by the fire at some point. I got to my feet easily and gave Gareth a hand up too. He adhered up the pillows and blanket and returned them to the bed while I banked the fire and slipped out of my shirt. I was inclined to be self-conscious, but Gareth had long ago made it clear that he did not at all mind my age or my scars, so I tried to put it out of my head. But Gareth must have been able to tell that I was thinking about it because he came up, slipped his arms around my waist, and kissed my shoulder, murmuring, “You look perfect. Now, come to bed so I can make love to you.” I smiled and allowed myself to be led to the bed. 

It was decidedly odd, having our positions so thoroughly reversed. Usually, I was the one laying Gareth out gently on the bed, murmuring endearments. I tried to relax into it, but I felt vulnerable - exposed in a very different way than I felt laying face down with Gareth being bossy. There was nowhere to hide as Gareth’s fingers teased around the waistband of my trousers; he was gazing down at me intently, almost as if fascinated, and I found myself squirming uncomfortably. 

“Doing alright?” 

“I think so...”

“We don’t have to do this if you don’t want...”

“I do...” 

“I want you to enjoy this,” Gareth murmured, leaning down and brushing his lips across mine. “The whole point is that you enjoy it...I want you to see how good it can feel...”

I reached up and ran my fingers through hi Shari. “I know. I want...I want that too...I’m sorry.”

“No, no, don’t apologize.” Gareth sat back a little with the look on his face that told me that he was thinking, then said suddenly, “Would it be better if I blindfolded you?” 

I gaped silently at him for a moment, trying to wrap my mind around how easily Gareth talked about these things that made me blush just to think about. “I...umm...yes?” I  _ felt _ Gareth suppress his amusement at my flabbergasted stammering and the audible question mark after the ‘yes’. 

“Alright then,” he said, climbing off the bed and going over to our packs. He returned a few moments later with what appeared to be one of his thing sleeping shirts, rolling it loosely to create an improvised strip of cloth. My heart rate increased slightly as he leaned over and laid the fabric over my eyes and tied it in place - but to my own private surprise it wasn’t so much apprehension I felt as anticipation. I trusted Gareth explicitly, and we were in a place I felt safe. “There. You can take it off anytime you want. Understand?” I nodded, then blew out a slow breath as I felt Gareth climb back onto the bed, his hands never leaving my body. “You are so beautiful,” he murmured, fingers ghosting over my ribs. I felt myself blush. “Don’t you like it when I say that?” Gareth shifted and straddled my hips, but removed his hands from my chest. “Well?”

_ Damn _ , he was actually going to make me answer that. “I...n-no,” I forced out, squirming a little. I stopped that, however, when I realized just how thoroughly trapped I was between Gareth’s thighs - and how distracting the sensation was. 

“Why not?” He asked evenly, with no urgency at all, touching one of the scars on my shoulder - as if he didn’t have me at his mercy and blindfolded on a bed. Gareth’s self control would never cease to amaze me. 

I made a face, but answered his question. It never occurred to me not to. “It’s...Because...It’s embarrassing. And I’m  _ not _ .” 

Gareth’s lips suddenly touched my collarbone. “You’ve really no idea how gorgeous you are, do you?  _ Gods _ , Lance...do you never notice the way people  _ look  _ at you? The women in Camelot who still swoon over you - and no few of the men too. What makes you think you aren’t attractive?”

“I’m old, and have too many scars, and you’re young and golden and perfect...” I hadn’t planned to say all of that, but it tumbled out, as if my tongue had been loosened by the temporary loss of my eyesight. 

Gareth kissed me then, firm and demanding. He slid forward so he was straddling my waist rather than my hips, cradled my head in his hands, and kissed me until we were both out of breath. “You are amazing,” he murmured finally, “And also bloody attractive.” And then he set about proving to me just how much he believed those words - regardless of my reservations on the subject. 

Gareth made good on his earlier mental promise to  _ worship _ me. He peeled my breeches off inch by inch, kissing and caressing. Then, when he had tossed them over the edge of the bed, leaving me wearing nothing but the blindfold, he worked his way back up my body, going on and on about how  _ pretty  _ I was. “You look so good like this,” Gareth murmured, voice warm with affection and rough with desire, “All laid out for me. Gods, you’re so dangerous, and you look it - every line of muscle, all the scars you’ve earned - but when you do this for me, when you trust me like this you’re just gorgeous; you go all...all gentle and pliant, and your hair is so dark and soft and a little silver to match scars. I wish you could see how good you look like this, Lance. I never want to let you out of bed. You say that I’m pretty and perfect and golden, but  _ gods _ , Lance, have you  _ looked  _ at yourself? Dark and beautiful and...you’re part  _ god,  _ Lance, and you look it. You’re related to the goddess of  _ death _ , and here you are laid out for me, blindfolded and all soft. For  _ me _ .” I could hear the words he wasn’t adding there, the ones he’d used before, about being common, a lowly peasant.  But all the while as he talked his hands kept me too busy writhing in pleasure to complain. We shared a long kiss, then I felt Gareth’s fingers, already slick with oil (when the hell had he managed that?), sliding between my legs. 

If I thought being laid out on my back and complimented felt vulnerable, this was something else entirely. But it was Gareth’s voice murmuring in my ear, and his scent which surrounded me, and against all my expectations I found myself relaxing, floating on the overwhelming sensations. And when Gareth eventually pushed slowly inside of me I almost screamed. It felt so different from this angle, and I reached out for him, needing something to hold onto. He was there, of course, because Gareth was always there for me, and I clung to him as he made love to me, drawing it out longer than I would have thought possible, until I was a trembling mess and I could feel the sweat slick on his skin. And when we both came, in the same moment, I couldn’t tell if I blacked out for a moment, or if it was just the effect of the blindfold. 

 

I could feel Lance’s overwhelming pleasure, feel the calm deep inside of him now that he had finally given himself over to being taken care of and loved. After we came, I stayed where I was for a long moment, enjoying his closeness and the way his hands were still clutching desperately at my shoulders, then withdrew slowly. He didn’t protest, still too far gone, but when I reached up to remove the blindfold Lance  _ whined  _ and batted my hands away. 

“Alright, love,” I murmured, “I’m just going to go get a cloth to clean us up. I’ll be right back.” 

He whined again but let me go. I fetched a cloth, dampened it with warm water from the kettle by the fire, and returned to the bed as quickly as I could. Even when we weren’t touching I could  _ feel  _ Lance in the back of my head. Currently he was little more than an exhausted puddle of pleasure, which brought a self-satisfied smirk to my face. 

After I had cleaned us up, I pulled Lance close and held him, stroking his hair gently. He let me, and in fact leaned into the touch, curling against my chest and all but purring. I felt a flash of protectiveness, and realized that this was surely how he felt when he cradled me in his arms after sex. I liked it. I also liked this completely relaxed, affectionate, sleepy version of Lance; it was a rare thing indeed, and I made a silent promise to myself to try and make it happen more often. 

I carefully ran one finger across his cheek, over the bridge of his nose, and across his other cheek to his ear, following the path of the makeshift blindfold. “I’m going to take this off now, love.” 

He grumbled. He liked the feel of it, the darkness, the way it smelled like me and the way it kept him from having to come back to reality after our lovemaking. But he didn’t protest aloud when I gently untied the fabric and tossed it aside; he just turned his head and buried his face in my shoulder. 

“Thank you,” he murmured a few moments later, just as I was beginning to drift off. 

“You’re welcome,” I replied. 

“I needed that.” I sleepily hummed my agreement, then he added, “I can feel your contentment right now. And protectiveness. It’s nice.”

“And I can feel yours,” I agreed, “And yes, it is.” I ran my fingers through his hair and shifted us into a slightly more comfortable position, a reverse of how we usually slept - Lance sprawled on top of me with his head on my shoulder, my arms around his chest securely. “Go to sleep,” I whispered.

“It’s still early,” he protested, but the words were slurred with exhaustion. 

“Then maybe we won’t sleep ‘til noon tomorrow!” I said with warm amusement in my voice. 

“Mm,” he agreed, and then promptly fell asleep. 

I had every intention of staying awake for a time, just to enjoy the feeling of holding him, but I must have nodded off almost immediately, for when I blinked and opened my eyes, it was morning. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments are love ; )  
> (No, really, they keep me writing when life gets crazy and characters stop cooperating). 
> 
> Come say hi on tumblr, I'm GwynDuLac there too. 
> 
> Hopefully there will not be such a long delay before the next chapter goes up. But...no promises unfortunately. Thank you for all your patience. (Would it help if I said that I have at least through a part 5 planned? and most of the rest is much more drama-free than parts 1 and 2, I swear).
> 
> Next chapter will be more action, less talking. Promise.


	5. Something Different

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gareth and Lance make good on their plans to spar the following morning. The rest of the day proceeds most pleasantly from there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been looking forward to writing this chapter for weeks, so I'm glad that I've finally got it up.

I woke slowly, which was unusual for me. Blinking my way into full wakefulness, I realized that I had fallen asleep in Gareth’s arms, my head pillowed on his chest. I could hear his heartbeat, a steady, soothing sound. No wonder I had slept well, and had felt safe enough to rest easily and wake naturally. The only other person who could make me feel that way was Arthur, and gods knew it had been a long time indeed since he and I had had occasion to share a bed (innocently or otherwise). I sighed happily and turned my head to press an open-mouthed kiss to Gareth’s collarbone. He giggled, letting me know that he was already awake. 

“What time is it?” I asked, edging my way up his body to kiss at his neck. I was thinking how nice it would be to stay in bed with no fear of interruption for a while. 

“Quite early still, I think,” Gareth replied, “If you’re feeling up to it, I was thinking we could spar.”

“Feeling up to it?” I repeated in mock offense, but I ruined the effect because I couldn’t keep the smile out of my voice. There was a time not long ago when I would have been genuinely bothered by that comment; now, coming from Gareth at least, I was able to see it as harmless - as it had been intended. 

Gareth’s face became serious, however. “How do you feel after last night?” he asked, and I blushed. 

“Last night was...nice.” Understatement of the decade. “I’m fine though. Why do you ask?”

“Just checking. It was rather...intense.”

I made a sound of agreement and paused to consider. “To by honest, I actually feel  _ good  _ again for the first time since we left for Lyonesse - not just relaxed but actually rested, like I’ve finally caught up on sleep.” By the end of that adventure I had needed a lot more than just ‘catching up on sleep’ to recover from my near-death experience, but in truth I did feel better now. And not just better but good. Very good. Energetic enough that I grinned down at Gareth and said, “I think sparring sounds like a great idea.”

Gareth laughed a little at my enthusiasm and pushed at me playfully. “Well, get off me then and let's get dressed.”

We got up and found in our packs clothing that was suitable for sparring in. I chose simple black cotton breeches and shirt with a padded doublet over it, and set aside my leather armor to take with us. Gareth, meanwhile, put on nearly the same outfit, though with grey breeches and boots instead. 

The salle was opposite the stables, forming the west wall of the courtyard. There had not been an indoor practice area when I had acquired the keep, but naturally I had rectified that quickly when we were re-fortifying the building. It was a wooden structure, save for the side formed by the outer courtyard wall. The floor was wooden as well, kept cleanly swept, and the double doors were repurposed stable doors, wide and hung on well-oiled hinges so that they could be thrown open in good weather, opening up the salle to the courtyard. As the morning was warm and sunny (much as the day before had been), I opened the doors while Gareth began putting on his leather breastplate and bracers. I noted idly that he needed new ones soon, this set rather worn and badly scarred from heavy use. He had probably had them since he was knighted. 

The smith was awake, stoking his furnace for the day, and one of the kitchen maids was coming back from gathering eggs. A handful of others were in the courtyard as well, the keep slowly coming alive in the morning air. Gareth and I would have an audience, clearly. Though that was nothing knew, I didn’t like it much. I was used to it, but I didn’t like it. 

Going back into the salle, I checked the buckles on Gareth’s armor, then acquiesced to his assistance with my own. We each selected a weighted wooden practice sword from the rack on the wall, and I watched Gareth go through a few exercises to warm up, his body moving smoothly and strongly. I remembered when as a scrawny boy of 10, he had practiced those movements until his hands blistered and bled, working so hard to make them perfect, to be the best. Now they were as powerful and natural as breathing to him. I could happily have watched Gareth all day, but I shook myself out of my reverie and set about my own warm ups - I didn’t want to risk hurting myself through a lack of attention. 

A few minutes later, Gareth and I squared off for a sparring match. We hadn’t done this for weeks, not since before Lyonesse, and I was quite looking forward to it. I could sense at least two people hovering in the door, and I was sure there were more watching discretely from the courtyard. But I put all that out of my mind, smiled at Gareth, and saluted with my sword. He returned both the expression and the gesture, and that was all the warning I got before he threw himself across the space between us, blade snaking out lightning-quick to knock my weapon aside. I started to step quickly back to give myself time and space to recover and return the attack, but Gareth had anticipated the move; he grabbed my left arm, placed his foot behind my leg, and sent me tumbling to the ground courtesy of my own momentum and a none-too-gentle shove from his elbow against my sternum. I fell hard, the breath leaving my body in a rush as my back hit the unforgiving floorboards. 

Gareth stood over me and placed his practice sword against my throat, breathing a little hard from adrenalin. I stared up at him, gasping for air, heart pounding, torn between a vague sort of mortification that I had been bested so quickly, and distinct sense of pride in his ability. I settled (mostly) on the latter. (I also silently acknowledged that  _ fuck he was hot like that _ .) Standing there, looming over me, dressed all in grey and black, Gareth would have looked thoroughly intimidating if not for the impish grin on his face. “Want to go again?” he asked with a laugh, stepping back and giving me a hand up. 

“Of course,” I replied, getting my feet back under me, “I’ll admit that I , ah...didn’t realize we were...going all-out immediately.” Alright yes I was embarrassed, especially since others were watching. 

Gareth leaned up and whispered in my ear, “Sorry about that, it’s just...I don’t mind if people think I’m you’re kept boy, but they’re damn well going to know that I’m a Knight too.” While I tried to process that, Gareth stepped back, grinned again, and said at a normal volume, “Right then, again?”

“Absolutely,” I agreed. 

This time I was prepared for an all-out assault, though Gareth went a bit easier than he had in our first bout. With neither of us bringing  _ quite  _ all of our skill or strength to bear, we fought each other to a standstill for the better part of an hour, finally calling it a draw when we were panting, sweaty, and could no longer resist the smell of breakfast wafting over from the kitchens. All in all, it was a thoroughly satisfying start to the day; it felt good to train again, to use a sword with less than deadly intent and to feel my body move in the familiar patterns without exhaustion or pain weighing down my limbs. Actually, I felt physically much better than I had expected, and it brought a smile to my face as we set aside our swords and and left the salle. 

*  *  *  *

I loved sparing with Lance, I always had. At first, when I had only just become his squire, it intimidated me immensely because I so badly did not want to disappoint him. But Lance proved to be a surprisingly patient teacher (at least when he had a dedicated student who learned fast), and our training sessions quickly became a bright-spot in my life. That had never changed, in all the years since, though it was only very recently that I had reached a level of skill (and physical strength) to be able to best Lancelot - and even then, I had to catch him off guard as I had that morning. I had shamelessly used the fact that I knew he was relaxed and expecting a relatively light training session. Usually I would not have been able to pull that sort of trick on him. 

We fetched fresh-baked bread and still-hot bacon from the cook, and ate it standing in the courtyard, leaning against the outside of the salle, watching the work of the day going on around us. I’d never spent much time at a place like this; I was from a rural village, and had lived most of my life in Camelot. Lancelot’s keep still seemed like something out of a lovely dream or a tale of faeries and magic - a bit surreal and far too good to be true. 

I was pulled from my thoughts by Lance nudging my foot gently with his. “Shall we get cleaned up?” he asked, tone bland but eyes sparkling mischievously. 

I smiled back, mimicking his affected disinterest even as tension crackled between us. “Yes, a bath sounds rather nice.” 

We went back inside and stopped by our room to fetch clean clothes. I pulled simple grey trousers and shirt out of my bag, intending to just wear one of the plainest outfits I had brought, but Lance took them from me and handed back the expensive leather breeches I had worn the day before, and a soft red cotton shirt that was mine but which I most certainly had not packed. I gave him a Look, but didn’t comment. In fact, I rather enjoyed the possessive instinct of his that had compelled him to pack some of my clothes that he liked so he could see me in them. Then we retreated to the baths. 

We were barely through the doors when Lance caught my arms, pressed me up against the wall, and kissed me passionately. I was caught slightly off guard, even though he and I had already discovered that sparring often sparked extra passion in our relationship; something about our bodies moving together that way made for good foreplay. I almost lost my grip on the clothes in my arms, but Lance took them from me, set them aside on a bench beside us, and proceeded to kiss me again, forcefully, gripping the sides of the armor that I still wore. I gasped and squirmed in his grasp, pleased to discover that his grip only tightened and he pressed me a little harder back against the mosaic. Feeling all of that physical power looming over me made my knees go weak. This was  _ exactly _ what I had wanted, what I had shown Lance the night before, but it was even better in real life than I had ever imagined. 

Lancelot’s hands fumbled for the buckles on my breastplate, still kissing me like he was drowning and I was air. Dropping the armor to the floor, he stepped back just a bit and grabbed my arm to begin roughly removing my bracers. “You fought well this morning,” he commented, “Not sure that knocking me on my ass in front of everyone was entirely necessary though.” 

I gave him my best impish, unabashed smile. “I don’t know, I sort of think it was.”

Lance shook his head at me, discarded my second bracer, then gave me a quick tug, pulling me off balance so I tumbled into his arms. “Are you enjoying this?” he asked softly, tone momentarily becoming totally serious. 

“Yes. Yes, please, don’t stop,” I assured him quickly, almost panting with desire (a fact which I refused to be embarrassed by).  He chuckled in my ear and set about stripping me out of my shirt, handling me roughly as he did. I relaxed into the feeling, trusting Lance implicitly. He let me go just long enough to take off his own shirt and boots, then grabbed me again, holding me tight against his body. I shuddered as Lance’s fingers deftly undid the laces on on my breeches, saying as he did, “So, you enjoyed  that earlier, beating me so handly?”

“Yes,” I admitted shamelessly, distinctly smug that the maneuver had worked so well. “And I rather think that  _ you  _ enjoyed it a bit as well!”

Lance just shook his head at me and muttered something about me being incorrigible. The next thing I knew, I found myself bent forward under his arm, pinned firmly, as he tugged down my pants. There was a brief pause, just enough time for me to protest if I had wanted (which I most certainly did not want to do, even though my heart rate had abruptly increased), then his hand cracked down sharply on my bare ass. I gasped at both the sound and the warm sting. There was another pause, another chance for me to put a stop to this, but when I didn't he delivered several more quick swats in quick succession before freeing me from his grip. I was almost disappointed; even though I had a slightly different fantasy about being spanked, it had still felt good and I would have liked it to continue.

I straightened, rubbing at my ass with a chagrined little smile, then leaned up to give Lance a kiss. “Come on,” I murmured against his lips, “Don’t stop there. I’m enjoying this. Aren’t you going to fuck me?”

*  *  *  *

Gareth was right that spanking him brought back bad memories of being beaten by my father and weaponsmaster, but they had usually preferred to use a belt or a switch, so I figured that as long as I only used my hand it wouldn’t be too hard for me. Feeling the pleasure spike through him, hot and almost overwhelming, helped too. I could tell even without words that he enjoyed it, and I had to admit to myself that having that sort of power of him was a bit heady, though I doubted that I could have done it without the connection we now shared to reassure myself that I was in fact doing what he wanted. Nonetheless, it was encouraging to  _ hear _ Gareth say that he was enjoying it. When he added, “Aren't you going to fuck me?” I had to bite back a moan. I grabbed him and spun him around, pulling him close so that his back was to my chest. I pinned him there, carefully calculating the pressure of my grip so that it was firm without risking causing bruises where they would be visible. 

“I sort of think I should spank you again just for that mouth of yours.”

“Mm, maybe you should,” he replied, pressing his head back against my shoulder, “Sit down and put me over our knee…”

“You like that idea very much don’t you?”

He nodded enthusiastically enough to draw a chuckle from me, but in reality I could  _ feel  _ how much he wanted that, feel it powerfully enough to make my own cock twitch with secondhand desire. But I wanted to talk about it more first, understand what he wanted to get out of it so I could make it as good as possible for him. “Maybe later,” I growled in his ear, “Right now I think I’ll take your suggestion and fuck you instead.” 

Gareth moaned quietly, going soft and pliant in my arms. I chuckled again and helped him the rest of the way out of his breeches, then discarded my own as quickly as I was able; I could hardly stand to take my hands off of Gareth long enough to do it. With that accomplished, I led him over to the bath, keeping my grip a little too tight, knowing how much Gareth was enjoying it, and manhandled him into the water. I turned him around so he was bent slightly forward, hands resting on the edge of the tub, back to me. Gareth moaned again as my hands slid roughly down his sides and squeezed his ass gently before reaching for the bath oil. 

My instinct was always to be gentle, especially with this, but with all of our bodily contact I could tell that Gareth didn’t want that today, so I swallowed my reservations and pressed my fingers in more quickly than I usually would. He groaned and leaned more heavily on the side of the bath. I was, nonetheless, careful and thorough in preparing him because I would never risk hurting him. But once I was sure that I wouldn’t, I gripped his hips tightly enough to bruise to pushed in with a single, steady push. Gareth’s knees nearly gave out, and I had to hold him up, which he seemed to very much enjoy. I took great pleasure in how much he was liking this, and proceeded to fuck him as hard as I dared, bending over his back and pinning his hands to the tiles. Gareth arched his back and moaned beautifully, and I was very glad that there was almost nothing else in this part of the keep besides the bathing room and my suite. 

“Please,” he whispered, pressing his hips back, repeating the word over and over. I would have been concerned that I had gone too far, except that his pleasure was washing through me, almost overwhelming. He was loving this, giving himself over to me. If I was being honest with myself, it was a heady feeling, having permission to let go; I so rarely let passion of any kind rule me that doing so was freeing, particularly with perpetual assurance via our bond that Gareth was very very much enjoying this.

*  *  *  *

If I had been able to think straight, it would probably have amazed me just how compatible Lance and I were when it came to pleasure. I had given him permission to lose control because I wanted to feel his power, and he enjoyed that but needed the permission - needed to be doing it  _ for me _ . In the moment though, I certainly could not think straight. I was drowning in the feeling of Lance over me, pinning me in place, and fucking me. Lance was not as big or heavily muscled as many of the knights, but he was tall and strong and could physically overwhelm me if he wanted to - I wanted to feel that and right now I was. Had my brain been working properly I may also have been concerned (and embarrassed) by how loud I was being, but in that moment I just did not care. 

Lance brought me to the edge twice before letting me come, and I cried out when I did, slumping forward as my arms suddenly couldn’t hold me up. But, naturally, Lance caught me and supported me, sitting down on the ledge and pulling me gently onto his lap. I curled into his body and stayed there until my mind started to shake off the fog of pleasure - and then I stayed there a bit longer, just because I could, and because the feel of Lancelot stroking my hair and drawing little patterns on the back of my shoulder was immensely soothing. 

I wanted to thank him for everything, but when I opened my mouth all that came out was a breathless, “Fuck…” 

“Are you alright?” he asked, concerned. 

“Better than. Perfect.  _ Fuck  _ that was good…” 

“Yes,” agreed Lance, then, somewhat tentatively, “I enjoyed it too…”

“Good. I  _ always _ want you to enjoy what we do.”

“Well, I  _ certainly _ enjoyed this…” Lance said, before adding, “Maybe more than I should have? I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“No!” I sat up a bit so I could look him in the eye, “No, you did not. At all. And to be honest, I think you would have to try quite hard to actually hurt me. You’ve sparred with me, Lance. You’ve trained me. I’m not fragile.”

“I couldn’t live with myself if I hurt you...” I felt a pang go through him at the very thought and curled up against his chest again. 

“You won’t. I do like you being rough though…”

“Yes, you made that quite clear!” His voice was rich with suppressed laughter, and I bit lightly at his collarbone in retaliation. “Oy!” His indignation brought a giggle to my lips and I snuggled closer. “You are a brat.” 

“Yes. And you should spank me for it.”

“Once we’ve talked about it a little more,” Lance agreed, kissing my forehead. I sighed happily. 

A moment later, I felt him shift a little and smelled soap. Lance set about washing my gently, and I slipped gradually back into my earlier contended haze. The contrast between his earlier roughness and current tenderness was delicious. He helped me rinse off, and rinse out my hair, then guided me out of the bath and bundled me into an oversized towel. It was really very sweet. 

While I dried off, Lancelot redressed in clean clothing, and I watched with both appreciation and fascination, because amazingly he  _ wasn’t _ wearing all black. Rather, put on a pair of suede riding breeches in warm grey, an off-white linen shirt, and a pale blue quilted doublet with a vaguely familiar sigil on the breast. In my current state, sluggish with heat and pleasure, it took me a moment to realize that these were  _ Lancelot’s  _ colors and that was  _ Lancelot’s  _ device - not his family crest from Gaul, but the emblem of the lands where we currently were.  _ His.  _ In Camelot - and nearly all the rest of the time too - he wore black. That device was stitched in silver thread on one shoulder of his red cloak, the one that marked him as a Knight of the Round Table, but I had never seen it properly before. It was swooping hawk picked out in black and silver, with a dark blue arrow in its claws. Fitting, in some way I didn't quite have the energy to articulate just then. The pale blue of the doublet made Lance look subtly different - a little younger, a little softer, certainly more approachable. Much less intimidating, certainly. Here, dressed like this, he was the lord of an estate, not the man wholly defined by his status as King’s Champion. It left me feeling a bit lost, actually. But only for a moment, for them Lance was standing in front of me, taking the towel from my shoulders and helping me to dress. He had selected my clothing well, if his aim was to make me look like a young nobleman. Judging by his self-satisfied smile and appraising gaze, he very much liked the result. I couldn’t resist teasing him a little. 

“No wonder they think I’m your kept boy - you let me sleep in your room, offer to give me warhorses worth a fortune, dress me in fine clothing…” Lance flushed red and I laughed, reaching up to put my arms around his neck and give him a kiss. “Not that I’m complaining, mind you,” I whispered in his ear, “You can spoil me any time if it means you looking at me like that.” He huffed, then gave in and laughed a little. 

“As long as it doesn’t bother you. “

“In Camelot it might, but here it doesn’t. It’s sort of...charming in a way.”

“That is not the word I would use, but I’m too hungry to argue with you right now.” 

He made a good point; our light breakfast was not nearly enough to make up for our physical exertions that morning - both in the salle and the bath. So we laid aside the banter and went to fetch lunch. As we walked down the hall, I asked, “What shall we do with the rest of the day?”

Lance was quiet for a moment, then looked at me and said, “It feels strange to have enough free time even to ask that question, doesn’t it?”

It was true. In Camelot we were always busy - Lancelot especially since he was almost constantly with the King, and running a kingdom (especially as carefully as Arthur did) was a full-time endeavor. Even I was plenty busy in Camelot, mostly training with the other knights and playing body-guard to the King or Queen. Since I was Lance’s protege, I was often included in his and the King’s many meetings; I also spent time keeping abreast of various affairs of court and country...I shook my head slowly and responded to Lancelot’s question. “Yes. Yes it is.” 

“We could go hunting,” he suggested as we passed through the main hall, “Or riding again. I still have a little catching up to do on things here, but nothing at all urgent.”

“If we were in Camelot,” I mused, “I’d go borrow a book and find somewhere very quiet and very sunny to sit, and I would read all afternoon.”

“We can do that,” said Lance, surprising me slightly, “I haven’t anything like Arthur’s library, but have a few things you may find interesting.”

“And what would you do?”

He shrugged elegantly, “I’ve no objection to spending an afternoon reading. Or I can find something to do with my hands while you read. The idea of a quiet afternoon is...very appealing.” Lance made a considering face then said, “Come, let’s pack a lunch that we can take with us. I have a thought.” I refrained from making a joke about the risks of Lance doing too much thinking, and simply gestured for him to lead the way. 

Having gathered up a loaf of bread, some cheese, the remainder of the bacon from breakfast, and a few other odds and ends (including a skein of wine), Lance showed me to his study, which did indeed include a handful of rather worn books. I selected two (one which I had read before and one which looked interesting), and Lance took a small volume from where it rested on his desk. We then packed the lot into our saddlebags, saddled Xiphos and Equinox, and set out into the sunny afternoon. 

We rode at a leisurely pace (much to the obvious annoyance of both warhorses) until we reached a charming little glade near the brook. Tethering our mounts to nearby trees, Lance spread a blanket out on the mossy bank, and we settled down to eat. It was a romantic setting, and the soft, loving look that Lance was giving me was enough to make me blush. Our relationship was not like this - we did not have the luxury of picturesque picnics. Yet, here we were, and I was determined to enjoy it. 

“What book did you bring?” I asked once my appetite was somewhat satisfied and part of the skein of wine was gone. Lance blushed and produced the volume, a small, worn, leather-bound affair that proved to be something in Greek that I had no hope of reading. I was lucky to have developed a solid grasp of Latin and British, seeing as I had never seen a book (or learned to read or write) before coming to Camelot at the age of eight. I gave him a questioning look. 

Lance took the book back and replied awkwardly, “Sappho.” 

“I’ve heard of him, I think. It’s poetry, yes?”

“Her,” corrected Lance with a little smile, “And yes.” Then, in a blatant attempt to change the subject, “What did you bring?”

“A Latin translation of something by Thucydides that looked interesting, and  _ Heroides  _ because I enjoy it. 

Lance gave me a blank, vaguely confounded look, and I thought he was going to make a joke about the fact that I enjoyed  _ Heroides,  _ but instead he asked with something like affront, “You chose  _ A History of the Peloponnesian War _ as light reading for an afternoon?”

“It sounded interesting!” I repeated in self-defense.  

He just shook his head at me and huffed a disbelieving little laugh. “Well, suit yourself. I recommend ‘The Melian Dialogue’ if you are looking for something that you might actually finish today.”

“Oh, so you’ve read the thing you were laughing at me for bringing?”

“Of course. Or rather, Arthur read me bits when we were on campaign together. He likes that book. Of course, he’s a show-off who reads it in Greek.”

“Says the man who brought a book of Greek poetry this afternoon,” I teased, then added, “Did Arthur read to you often?”

“It was a way to pass the time,” Lancelot replied, “Especially when we were garrisoned during the winter.”

“Would you read to me this afternoon?” I asked on a whim, gesturing at the little book of Greek poetry. Lance blushed and looked like he was going to make up an excuse not to, I so gave him my best hopeful expression and he acquiesced, as I had known he would. 

*  *  *  *

It had been a whim to grab the little book of love poems, and I was not entirely sure that I was glad that I had done so. But when Gareth gave me that look, I could deny him nothing, so I settled back on the blanket, took another long pull from the wineskin, and began to read. The Greek felt odd on my tongue, and I stumbled a bit over the first poem I chose, but I managed. Gareth lay back with his eyes closed and a little smile hovering about his lips, as if enjoying listening to my halting Greek. Naturally, though, he demanded a translation as soon as I finished. I stumbled over that even more, the words losing all of their melody - it was also a terribly sappy bit of love poetry, and I blushed and stuttered even more because of that. However the angelic look of happiness on Gareth’s face encouraged me, and when he asked me to read another I happily did so. 

And so we passed the afternoon, lounging in the early May sunshine, sharing wine and reading to each other like a pair of lovestruck youngsters in a story. I had never done anything like this before - and utterly adored it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With regard to the books mentioned, if anyone is curious:  
> \- Heroides is an epic poem written by the Roman poet Ovid about the less-than-pleased lovers of famous Roman and Greek heroes. I've never read it, but now I want to. 
> 
> \- Sappho is, naturally, the famous Greek (woman) love poet known as a symbol of same-sex desire (even though her sexuality is, to my knowledge, still debated). Again, haven't read this but want to.
> 
> \- Thucydides I have read part of (the Melian Dialogue which Lance refers to). He was a political and military theorist, essentially. Seemed like something Arthur would have subjected Lance to hearing at some point lol. 
> 
> (Also, there's a reason this story has so much bath sex in this story. She knows who is she.)
> 
> Come say hi on Tumblr.  
> Comments and kudos are love ; )


	6. Neighbors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of course things have to stop going smoothly at some point...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am _so sorry_ about the delay. Finals Happened. (At least its over 5000 words. Does that absolve me slightly?)
> 
> I am also sorry if there are glaring spelling/punctuation errors; my brain is too fried from finishing up essays to tell if this writing is decent or not. Drop me a comment if there's something I should fix.

I was half surprised to return to the keep and find everything still in good order. My life had conditioned me to anticipate something bad to happen whenever things had been calm for a time. But in fact we returned to find the cook about to lay supper on the table, Galahad bouncing about with excitement over a new parry he had learned during his sword lessons that afternoon, and no apparent indication of anything going wrong. So I put my unease out of my mind, and Gareth and I went to quickly wash up before the evening meal. 

There was a bowl and pitcher of clean water in our room, and as Gareth washed his hands and face, I leaned against the wall beside him, admiring his profile and considering. During our little sojourn that afternoon we had continued our conversation from the previous night, and clarified a few things. Gareth had happily answered my (stammered, awkward) question about what he wanted out of me spanking him - how he wanted it to work. Keeping what he had told me in mind, I said slowly, “So, I’ve been thinking.” 

“Always a dangerous proposition,” Gareth laughed, drying his face and stepping closer to give me a quick kiss. 

I smiled down at him, not the warm smile that made Guin giggle whenever she saw it on my face, but something harder, hotter. “I’ve been thinking that I’m going to give you that spanking you’ve been asking for for days.” Gareth’s eyes dilated and his lips parted slightly, not quite smiling but clearly pleased. I added, “After dinner.” He stared up at me, blinked, and flushed slightly; I leaned in and murmured in his ear, “So that you can think about it until then.” He shivered and blushed and nodded rather enthusiastically. I carefully suppressed a chuckle. I actually adored the fact that Gareth was like this, all simple enjoyment in our relationship uncomplicated by embarrassment or (seemingly) even nervousness. 

Dinner was the usual simple, enjoyable affair. Gareth sat beside me, and squirmed the whole time, but I ate slowly, let Elaine chatter away about various inane happenings that hadn’t made it into her letters during the many months I was away. I knew Gareth had been looking forward to this, and I was going to draw it out as long as I thought I reasonably could. 

I did not drink much, wanting to be clear-headed for the rest of the night, and I was pleased to see that Gareth likewise barely touched his wine. No one seemed to notice his fidgeting, not even Elaine, so the conversation wended its way through daily life at the keep, small incidents I had missed while gone, and even some gossip from Camelot, which Gareth joined me in imparting with rather more enthusiasm than I would have expected. Elaine just shook her head and muttered about how it did not sound like a very friendly place, while Galahad listened with wide, wondering eyes. I realized that it was very possible that in a year or two he might be a page in Camelot, if his mother was willing to let him.   

Eventually, however,  the meal wound down and Gareth and I retreated to our room. Once there, I pointedly did not look at him. I washed my hands and face, contemplated changing out of my fine clothes, and instead went over and sat on the divan near the fireplace. Gareth too washed up, and I watched shamelessly as he stripped out of his evening finery and changed into sleeping pants. He picked up a shirt, but didn’t put it on, glancing over at me nervously. I allowed myself a half smile, tried to swallow my nerves, and beckoned him over. 

Gareth came and stood in front of me, contriving  to look at me from under his eyelashes even though I was sitting and therefore was looking up at him. I wondered idly if he knew what it did to me when he looked at me like that. But before this went any further, there was something I needed to talk to him about. 

“You know the system we use when we’re sparring - not fun sparring but properly fighting? A…a word that means ‘stop immediately’?”

“Yes…” he said very slowly. I knew he knew what I was referring to it. It was something I had taught him years ago, when I first began seriously training him to be King’s Champion, when I started pushing him hard, going further than I would have gone with another squire. It was also something that Arthur and I had learned the value of when we were young and in our prime and would spar hard enough to do serious damage. We both got lost in a fight if we weren’t careful, and needed a code to be able to put an immediate end to things. It worked well.

“I want you to have a word like that, but for this.” 

“O-alright.” I watched him think for a moment, eyebrows drawing together adorably, then he asked, “Can we use the system we used when you were teaching me how to get out of restraints? The black-grey-white thing? Black for ‘stop’, white for ‘everything is fine’, and ‘grey’ for ‘I’m not sure’?”

“Absolutely,” I agreed, “Perfect.” It was a good idea, and a system we were both familiar with. I had agonized over how to safely teach Gareth, both when he was a squire and afterward, how to escape if he were ever captured and restrained or locked up. I hated putting manacles on his slender wrists, or tying him up, but I had had to. So we had invented a system for him to reassure me that he was fine, and to reassure him that we could stop any time he needed. 

With that sorted, some of my anxiety seeped away, and I smiled up at Gareth again, reaching out and pulling him closer so that he stood between my knees. I began unlacing his breeches slowly, saying as I did, “So…that spanking you’ve been asking for…”

Gareth flushed beautifully at the words, and shifted a little on his feet. Pleasure rippled along our bond, even though I was not touching his skin. It was the first time I had distinctly felt something without touching him, and my sense of relief was profound - I had been so worried that I would never have as strong a connection to him as he had to me. But I did not want to side-track our evening with that conversation, so I mentally set aside everything that wasn’t  _ Gareth standing half-dressed in front of me _ , and focused all of my attention on him. 

 

I was nervous, and so was Lance, by we were also both incredibly turned on. I stood in front of him, shirtless and barefoot, my thin, unlaced sleeping pants doing very little to hide my body’s interest in the proceedings. “Come here,” said Lance suddenly, sitting up a little straighter and reaching out for my hand. I found myself guided gently but firmly down over his lap. My heart beat faster in my chest and my stomach churned pleasantly as my nerves warred with my anticipation. I gasped a little when Lance abruptly pulled my breeches down around my knees. Then he wrapped one arm firmly around my waist to hold me still and I felt my body going all weak and limp with pleasure. I thought I could almost come from this alone. The world began to go fuzzy around the edges as I relaxed into Lance’s grip, trusting him completely. 

“You alright there?” He asked. I nodded, but he pressed, “Color?”

“White,” I gasped out, then squirmed pointedly. Even though I was nervous I  _ wanted  _ this. I had wanted this for years - my deepest, most closely guarded fantasy. 

“Alright then,” said Lance, rubbing his free hand over my bare ass, then, with no further warning, began spanking me firmly. 

During our earlier conversation I had (while hiding against his chest) described to him what I did and did not want, and he was delivering perfectly. For me the point of this was not  _ pain _ , so he was not hitting hard, but rather with a steady, unrelenting pace that soon had me wiggling in his grasp. 

“Color,” he asked again, pausing a moment to adjust my position over his lap and rub my back. 

“White. God, please, don’t stop.” I didn’t care if I sounded desperate. This felt good,  _ so good _ , and I just wanted to sink into the dual sensations of being utterly helpless and perfectly taken care of - safe and good and with no responsibility for a time except to lay there and  _ feel _ . I could not have done this with anyone else, but with Lance it was exquisite. 

Lance tightened his grip on my waist slightly and returned to spanking me. The stinging heat built and I began to squirm in earnest. A few long moments later when I yelped at a particularly hard smack, he stopped. I heard myself whine in protest, but was too far gone to be embarrassed. “Color?”

“White.”

“Alright love,” he said, taking my arm which wasn’t pinned between us and pressing my wrist firmly into my back, restraining me more thoroughly, “Twenty more, but they’re going to be harder.”

I nodded my agreement and understanding, and braced myself. Lance made good on his word that the last few would be the hardest, and I found myself gasping and squirming helplessly; firmly pinned, all I could really do was lay there and take it, and in spite of the fiery sting I was disappointed when it was abruptly over. 

Lance helped me up, and I immediately crawled onto his lap, kneeling on either side of his thighs and leaning into his chest, needing to feel him close to me. He held me, stroking my hair gently, and asked, “Are you alright? Was that too much?”

“Perfect,” I mumbled into the side of his neck. “Was perfect.” And it was. Even better than I had imagined - and gods knew I had imagined it often enough over the years. 

“Good,” he replied, then, “I thought so. I could feel that you were enjoying it, but…I needed to hear you say it. Gods, I can’t imagine doing that if I couldn’t feel your emotions at the same time; it would feel too much like hurting you.”

“But you could feel, and so you know how much I liked it.”

He laughed a little at that, though not at all unkindly. “Indeed.” 

I was glad, both because it meant that we might get to do this again, and because I wanted Lance to  _ know _ how safe and loved he made me feel. It meant so much to me that he was willing to do this, even though he had his own bad experiences in the past. I had seen the scars from his father taking a belt to him. 

After a few moments, I found myself nodding off, drifting easily from contented daze into calm sleep. “Wanna go to bed,” I murmured, still without raising my head from Lance’s shoulder. 

“Alright,” he said, and before I could marshall my limbs into some semblance of coordination to get up, Lance’s arms shifted and he stood slowly, picking me up with him. 

Giggling, I locked my legs around his waist and my arms around his back, and let him carry me to bed. 

He laid me down gently and covered me with a spare blanket while he changed out of his clothes, then crawled in beside me. I smiled and snuggled close, still feeling warm and content and sleepy, but also beginning to notice that I was painfully hard. Lance was hardly oblivious to the fact, and took my cock in his hand, beginning to stroke firmly. But I shook my head. “No. Need you.” I raised my gaze to meet his and added, “I want to feel you inside of me.” I smiled as I watched his pupils dilate, and desire pulsed along our bond. 

Lance rolled us over so that he lay over me, and looked down with a hungry, vaguely dangerous smile on his face. I shivered pleasantly, stomach churning with hot desire. Sitting up, Lance reached over and picked up the little bottle of oil off of our nightstand. He coated his fingers with it, and I raised my legs to rest my ankles on his shoulders. Lance shook his head a little at my enthusiasm, but then paused. He reached out with his clean hand and touched by ass where he had so recently been spanking me. “Does it hurt?” 

“Stings a bit. Why?”

“It’s still red.”

“Well, I think it feels good…”

“Good.” 

I watched Lance set aside whatever concerns he had, and then gasped as his slick fingers pressed inside of me. The pressure sent pleasure spiraling through me and I canted my hips up to give him a better angle. 

In spite of the burning desire I could feel from him, Lance was extremely gentle and loving, and I sank back into my earlier comfortable daze. When he removed his fingers I whined a little and he reassured me that it would just be a moment. I watched hazily as he picked up the oil again and coated his cock. Then he leaned over me, caught my gaze, and pressed slowly in. I threw my head back and moaned. Lance pressed a kiss first to my forehead, then my lips, and began to fuck me slowly and steadily. 

I clung to him as the pleasure built, gasping as he brought us both to the edge twice before reaching between us and finally letting our pleasure spill over like a warmth spreading through my body, sinking to muscle and bone and leaving me feeling heavy and satisfied. By the time Lance had carefully pulled out and gently wiped away the evidence of our activities with a damp cloth, I was nearly asleep. He lay down beside me, pulled me against him, and kissed my hair. 

“Love you,” I murmured, snuggling closer. 

“I love you too, Gareth. So very much.” And that was the last thing I heard before sleep claimed me. 

 

I watched Gareth drift off to sleep, an angelic little smile on his face, and held him a little more firmly than was necessary. I loved him so much it hurt, and I was still grappling with the idea that he took pleasure from me being rough with him. It spite of all of the pain and suffering we had had to endure to have the emotional bond we had now, I was grateful for its existence. Without it we would undoubtedly have continued to have a good relationship, but with it so many of my private fears were allayed. I was never in any doubt that Gareth wanted me and loved me, and it just made me adore him all the more. I could not believe that I was lucky enough to have him. 

I sighed and pressed my nose into his hair, breathing in the smell that was just  _ Gareth _ . Life was perfect - almost suspiciously so - but in that moment I was far too contented to worry. 

*  *  *  *

It was storming the next morning, and looking back part of me wondered if that wasn’t the first sign that things were going to start to go wrong. Nonetheless, the day itself did not get off to a bad start. I woke with Gareth in my arms, still sleeping soundly. When he did finally stir he was in an especially affectionate mood and decided to ‘thank me’ for the previous evening’s activities while we were taking our now-customary morning bath. 

Following breakfast, we cleared some space in the main hall, and Gareth and I took over Galahad’s weapons training for the day. We could have used the salle, but there was no reason not to simply take over the main hall, and it meant that Elaine could watch us more easily, something I know she quietly enjoyed. 

First, I had him show me what he had been working on with the weapons master, then worked through the exercises with him. He was a quick learner, and already quite proficient at what he had been taught. Though at his age what he knew was mostly fairly simple things, but his technique was good and he had a natural sense of how to put motions together, and that was something that could not be taught. So I began to teach him a more complicated attack combining some of what he already knew. In truth, I cared more about his technique than anything, and his technique was very good. 

After a while, we took a break, and Elaine motioned me over. I left my practice sword on the table and went to talk to her. “The lower field is flooding again.” 

“Mm,” I hummed, eminently unsurprised.

“And there are stirrings that someone has eloped against their family’s wishes so I would prepare yourself to be dealing with that soon. In fact, if you are here for more than a week, I would expect that there are one or two other disputes you might hear about. I do my best with you gone, but as you know there are a couple of families that don’t appreciate being dictated to by a woman.” 

I sighed, not looking forward to that. “Yes, of course.” 

Elaine glanced over my shoulder and smiled suddenly. I turned to see what she was looking at and felt something warm unfurl in my chest. Gareth was showing Galahad how to perfect the attack I had been teaching him, guiding him through the footwork to make it much faster and harder to counter. Seeing me looking, Gareth sent me quick smile, then leaned in and murmured something in Galahad’s ear. The boy giggled adorably and the next thing I knew I found myself confronted with an eight year old armed with a wooden sword and determined to keep me from getting back across the room to retrieve mind - and Gareth was backing him up. 

I was very grateful that I was wearing leather armor when Galahad darted forward, laughing. “Sir Gareth says he’ll help me beat you!”

“Oh he did, did he?” I asked rhetorically, dancing out of the way of the swinging wooden sword, then glanced at Gareth and shook my head. “Traitor.” He smiled innocently at me and shrugged. 

I allowed Galahad to make a few attempts at landing a hit (he wasn’t quite quick enough and since I was unarmed I wasn’t inclined to go easy on him), then darted to the side to try and retrieve my own wooden sword. Gareth stepped into my path and I pulled up short. Elaine laughed, even though she couldn’t see the put out expression on my face. 

“So, that’s how it’s going to be then,” I muttered, re-assessing just how difficult this was likely to prove. Gareth smiled at me again, transferred his sword into his off hand, and took up a ready position. 

The two of them chased me around the hall for a time, to the increasing amusement of Elaine, the cook, and one of the maids who happened to have wandered in. I put up with this for a time, then, after narrowly blocking a blow from Gareth with the bracer on my left forearm, began to bring my full skill to bear on this little mock fight of ours. Gareth responded in kind, though he wasn’t going quite all out, and continued to instruct Galahad, who was enjoying himself immensely, grinning and laughing like he was having the time of his life. I found myself smiling as well, even as I dodged and ducked. I squared up to Gareth, watching Galahad out of the corner of my eye, and finally saw my opportunity to slip by my lover. When he lunged at me, I sidestepped the sword, grabbed his wrist, and spun him around, then gave him a firm shove in the back and darted in the direction of the table. Hearing behind me Gareth’s shout of indignation, and Galahad’s childish outrage, I hopped lightly onto the bench, then onto the table top, scooping up my wooden sword along the way, and turned quickly to defend myself against my slighted opponents. Now that I had a weapon and the high ground I felt much more confident about things - be Elaine was having none of it. 

“Okay, I will tolerate sword fights in the house, but you are not allowed to fight on the tables.” I cast her a pleading look, but she merely shook her head (eyes dancing with amusement, I noticed). I huffed and stepped down, twirling the sword easily and dropping into a ready stance. 

“That was amazing!” enthused Galahad, and it occurred to me that he had never seen someone like me actually put effort into a fight until just now during this little game of ours. I opened my mouth to promise him to show him how when he was a bit older, but at that moment our fun was interrupted. 

“Mm, yes, very impressive,” said a voice from the area of the doorway. I had been so caught up that I had not even noticed the presence of a newcomer. I did, however, know him. 

“Claudus,” I said, hoping that my displeasure was not too obvious in my voice. 

“ _ Sir  _ Lancelot,” replied my neighbor, casting his beady eyes around the room, “I do hope I'm not interrupting anything...of...importance.”

“Just a bit of an impromptu lesson. Care to join us?” I asked with a smile that was all teeth and no warmth. 

Claudus scrunched up his doughy face. “No, thank you. I try not to stoop to unnecessary physical activity. And I never fight.”

I could feel Gareth’s growing disgust with this man, so I was only mildly surprised when he spoke up and said, in a perfectly neutral tone, “In that case I'm sure you're grateful for those to must do both to keep this land so peaceful.”

“Peaceful!” Huffed Claudus, apparently oblivious to the rebuke he had just been delivered, “Thieves everywhere. Why just the other day one of my good horses was stolen out of the pasture.” He looked at Gareth as though seeing him properly for the first time. “I don't believe we've met.” Then, looking at me, “Don't you teach your servants manners?”

I could feel Gareth’s flash of annoyance, but it bled quickly into amusement when I smiled again, the same threatening smile as earlier. “My apologies, Lord Claudus. Allow me to introduce you. This is Sir Gareth, Knight of the Round Table. Sir Gareth, Lord Claudus, my neighbor. He claims descent from some of the earliest Roman settlers in these parts.” 

“I see,” said Gareth, “Pleasure to meet you.”

He was lying through his teeth about that second bit, because he  _ did  _ see. There were a small number of Roman families, or those who claimed to be, who held villas near Camelot and in the south of the country. They were a perpetual pain for the rest of us, thinking themselves very superior, going on and on about how things would get better when Rome ‘returned.’ Claudus was, in my opinion, especially annoying, since he was both incredibly stupid and believed himself incredibly superior due to his Roman blood. His disdain for the warrior class also aggravated me, since he seemed to be totally unaware that Rome had built its empire on the backs of soldiers, led by Emperor-generals. He and I got along like a house on fire, and my stomach churned with resentment at him showing up and interrupting my sojourn with Gareth. 

“Bit young to be a knight, aren’t you?” asked Claudus, “And a bit small?”

Gareth merely smiled sweetly, “I’m older than I look, and I assure you that being small has never been a problem for me.” 

I wasn’t sure if that was intended to sound suggestive or not, but clearly both Elaine and I thought it did because we both narrowly suppressed snorts of laughter. Claudus remained oblivious, but I decided to change the topic anyway. “So, is there something I can do for you?”

“Oh, well, I just wanted to drop in. You’re so rarely here. And I wanted to warn you that I think there may be bandits in these parts. Anyway, why don’t we discuss it over lunch?”

*  *  *  *

I had rarely seen Lance look as unimpressed as he did when those words left Claudus’ mouth. But then, I had already pegged the sort of man Claudus was, and knew that it must irk Lancelot just to be in the same room as the man. My lover twitched a little, but made no comment regarding the impropriety  of his neighbor inviting himself to lunch. Instead, Lance looked over to where Cook and Elaine still stood. “Would it be an imposition to lay lunch for a guest?” 

“Not at all, milord,” replied Cook promptly, casting a vaguely disdainful glance at Claudus, “Though I apologize that it will be rather plain fare, seeing as we weren’t expecting anyone.”

“That’s no trouble,” said Lance, smiling a little when Claudus grimaced. “Come, Gareth, mind giving me a hand putting these tables back?” 

We did so, Galahad helping as much as he could, but pouting quietly all the while. I felt a bit bad for him; he’d been enjoying himself so thoroughly, finally beginning to come out of his quiet shell, only to be interrupted by this buffoon. 

Lunch was a strained affair, with Lance and I seated beside each other, still in our battered leather armor, and painfully conscious of the space between us. Elaine and Galahad joined us as well, but not Cook or anyone else. I envied them a bit. Claudus ate enthusiastically, but with seemingly little regard for manners. He stared at me as he ate, and I stared back, unashamedly appraising him. Claudus was a pudgy man with a pale, doughy face and greasy, thinning hair. His eyes were small, beady almost, and his lips were thin. I pegged him as being at least fifty. 

I knew well the dangers of judging a man (or a woman) based on their looks. As was frequently pointed out to me, I hardly looked like a knight, and especially not a dangerous one - yet I undoubtedly was. Some of the cruelest people I knew were also some of the most beautiful (especially in Camelot’s Court). And yet I could not help but think that Claudus fit the description of a bloody nuisance perfectly. 

Even his voice grated on me when he spoke: “So, you are a knight?”

“Yes,” I replied levelly. 

“I’ve never heard of you.”

I opened my mouth to inform him that not every knight made his way into songs, but Galahad spoke up, “I have!  He was Lancelot’s squire, and now-” 

“Hush, boy,” snapped Claudus, then, to Lancelot, “Doesn’t your son know his manners?”

Lancelot and Elaine exchanged  a slow glance. “Galahad is a good lad. I’d be honored to have a son like him; however, I am not so fortunate.” 

It was always odd to hear Lance adopt a more courtly manner of speech; it settled oddly on my ears. Unfortunately, it was not nearly enough to deter Claudus. “Ah, yes, forgive me. I had forgotten that you and, ah,  _ Lady  _ Elaine are not married.” 

“And as I have told you in the past, she is my steward. And a very fine one at that.” 

Elaine smiled a little and I felt some of the tension go out of me. “Tell me,” I said, stepping and trying to redirect the conversation, “Have you children?”

“A couple of useless bastards about your age. They’re looking for the bandits I mentioned.”

“What trouble have you had - other than the horse?” inquired Elaine with every semblance of politeness. 

Claudus let out a long-suffering sigh. “Oh the usual - grain disappearing from the stores, pigs from the pen. The horse, like I said.” 

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. None of that was the work of bandits, but of starving peasants. The horse perhaps had been taken by true thieves, or perhaps it had simply escaped. Claudus seemed a sufficiently inept man that either was entirely likely. Or perhaps his sons had taken it. I almost snorted at that thought. Whatever it was, it was none of our concern.  

Lunch continued, with Claudus rambling on about his “ingrate” sons, and the “trials” of being a rural lord. But I noticed that the whole time, his eyes never left Lance and I. It made my skin crawl. Then, as the plates were being cleared, Claudus turned to Lance and said, “So, young Sir Gareth here was your squire?”

“Some years ago now, but yes.” 

Claudus’ eyes narrowed slightly. “I did not realize you had ever taken a squire. But then, I’m sure he was even prettier when he was a boy.”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean - and I’m sure I don’t want to,” replied Lancelot coldly, standing and thus putting an end to the meal, “I trust you have plenty to keep you occupied on your lands. I wouldn’t want to keep you.”

Claudus leaned back in his chair and smiled blandly, “Nothing that won’t keep until this rain lets up and I can ride back without catching my death of cold.” 

For a moment, I thought Lancelot might give into his instinct and punch the insufferable bastard. Instead he gritted his teeth and said, “I’m afraid you will have to keep yourself entertained in that case. I’m around so frequently that Lady Elaine and I have business to attend to.”

“I’m sure Sir Gareth could entertain me.”

Now I stood as well. “Although I’m sure you are charming company,” I said dryly, “I had promised Galahad I would spend the afternoon teaching him, and I would hate to disappoint him.” Then, before anyone could interrupt or protest, I turned to Galahad and continued, “If you’re done with lunch, let’s go out to the salle, shall we?” Galahad, to my relief, played along as if this had been the plan the whole time. As we ducked out into the rain, I sent Lance a brief, apologetic glance, then made my escape. 

 

Galahad and I passed a perfectly nice afternoon in the salle. I helped him practice the maneuver that Lance had taught him earlier, and we sparred, his wooden sword against my dagger to even the odds slightly. He was a talented lad, but also extremely bright, and when we were putting our things away to return inside for supper, he asked, “Why does Claudus not like you and Uncle Lance?”

I suppressed a sigh. How the hell to explain that to an eight year old? I decided to stick with honesty. “Lance and I are...close. People like Claudus often...see something wrong with that. Even though there isn’t.”

“You’re in love with him, aren’t you?” 

I paused and looked down at the boy and nodded slowly. “Yes. Do you mind?”

“No!” exclaimed Galahad, leaning forward and giving me and enthusiastic hug, “Now I get two uncles who are Knights!” I felt myself grin at that, pleased by his childishly simple acceptance, and also relieved that he had gotten over his earlier shyness toward me. I liked Galahad, and I especially liked watching the way Lancelot interacted with him. “Are you going to get married?” 

That brought me up short, and I was vaguely surprised by the pang I felt at the thought. “Probably not. That would get a bit complicated.” Not a lie, but one hell of an understatement. 

“That’s alright,” said Galahad, “You can be Uncle Gareth anyway.” He paused, former bashfulness coming over him again as he scuffed one foot on the ground, “As long as you don’t mind?”

“Not at all. I’m honored.” And that was the truth. “Now, let’s go back in and see if we can make it through supper without anyone losing their temper.” I tousled his hair and added almost as an afterthought, “Good practice for Court dinners and dealing with annoying nobles when you’re a knight.” 

Galahad wrinkled his nose. “That doesn’t sound like much fun.”

“It’s not - but other things make up for it.” 

As we made our way back inside I noticed that the rain continued to fall steadily, and the cloud cover meant that even early in the evening it was nearly full dark. I sighed. Yesterday had been so lovely; it seemed unfair that just when Lance and I were beginning to properly relax and enjoy ourselves, a fool like Claudus came and ruined things, for I was under no illusions - the man’s comments would eat at Lancelot, disturbing our peace long after the lord himself left. 

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments are love ; )
> 
> come say hi on tumblr (GuinDuLac)


	7. Worth It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The rest of Claudus' unwelcome visit, but with a happy ending.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh look, I'm still alive. School is over for the time being, but the last few weeks have been crazy. (Good crazy, but still too busy for me to write much). 
> 
> I hope to post more regularly again now, but I make zero promises because I remain busy and sadly must prioritize certain things ahead of writing these two - much as I wish it were otherwise. Have no fear though, this story won't be abandoned, and I have _loads_ more ideas for them. Enough for another 3-5 parts after this one, I'm thinking (and with considerably more plot, I promise). : D
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> __Sorry for the shoddy editing job, I just don't have the time or energy. If you spot something egregious, feel free to drop me a comment so I can fix it. (I'll be grateful, promise).__

I was seething quietly at Claudus’ words. How that man could be so oblivious about some things but so astute about others would never cease to amaze me. It worried me, though. Not so much because Claudus was any threat of any sort to either Gareth or I - the man didn’t rank highly enough to attend Court for anything but the biggest of celebrations - but because I worried that this was a glimpse at what would happen if people in Camelot discovered our relationship. 

 Elaine led me into her study (my study technically but she was the one who actually did work there), and as the door closed softly my simmering anger came to a boil; I turned sharply, looking for something I could hurl across the room, but Elaine knew me well and caught my hands, moving to stand in front of me. “Lancelot, don't,” she said softly, “It won't help and you’ll feel guilty later.” 

 She was right. For a moment I stood there, nearly shaking with rage, but then it all left me in a rush and I sank, exhausted, into a nearby chair. “Damn,” I muttered, head in hands, “Damn, why can't we even be left in peace for a week? Just a week!”

 “It’s not fair,” agreed Elaine, laying a cautious hand on my shoulder.

“This is what’s going to happen when we go back to Camelot, only it will be many times worse there…” I fretted. “God, why am I doing this to him? He deserves so much-”

“Don’t start with that,” Elaine said firmly, “Before you start fretting over how Gareth is going to take things like this -  _ ask him _ . For the love of God, Lancelot, don’t worry before you know whether or not you have anything to worry about. Seems to me like Gareth is a good, strong - well, not  _ kid,  _ but you know what I mean.”

I looked up at her cautiously, and surprised myself by smiling a little. “You’re right about that.” 

Although I agreed with Elaine that I should talk to Gareth, that didn’t keep me from fretting silently the rest of the day. She tried hard to keep my occupied; we sat down and went through detailed records of the estate (an exercise I did not engage in nearly often enough), but by the time supper rolled around my shoulders and back ached from barely contained stress. 

Claudus was his usual offensive self. Seated across the table from me, grease from the cooked goose dribbled down his chin, and he was clearly drunk before the meal had even started. Gareth sat next to me without being invited, and struck up a cheerful conversation with Galahad about their afternoon training session. I was impressed by his ability to put such a good facade, because beneath it I could  _ feel  _ his unhappiness as well. 

And then Claudus started in again. 

“So, how did the two of you meet? Did your father send you to Camelot to train, Gareth?”

“I bumped into Lancelot and the King in a market near my home village.” I repressed the urge to snort at Gareth’s blase tone. Claudus blinked, confused, and Gareth smiled. “I’m a commoner. A peasant, actually. But when I met Lancelot and the King I told them that I wanted to a page and they took me on.” 

I wasn’t sure what Gareth planned to get out of taunting Claudus with his low birth (though watching the man’s face change color was highly amusing), but I was willing to go along at it, so I smiled as well, enjoying the way my neighbor squirmed, but then he collected himself and sneered. “I knew something about you looked off. What is the world coming to when a  _ peasant _ becomes a  _ knight _ ? And  _ you _ ,” he continued, turning his beady eyes on me, “I’m surprised you would associate yourself with someone like that - no matter how pretty he is.”

I felt the smile drop off my face. “Gareth is one of the finest knights I know. Where he was born and who his family is has no impact on that. Hell, I’ll remind you that Gawain’s family has been at war with this country twice, but he is still the Heir and a loyal knight above reproach.”

“That’s different.”

“No it-” I began, but Gareth stopped me with a hand on my arm. 

“Let it go, Lance.” 

I glanced down at my plate and let out a slow breath. Claudus laughed, an ugly, greasy sound. “He really does have you wrapped around his little finger, doesn’t he? Disgusting.” 

Under the table, I curled one hand into a fist tight enough to hurt; but, with all of the self control I had learned over two decades of being the King’s Champion, I resisted the urge to reach across the table and strangle the man. In a voice tight with barely repressed anger, I said slowly and clearly, “ _ Lord _ Claudus, I do not appreciate what you are insinuating - what you have been insinuating all day. You have overstayed your welcome; if you continue to insult me or Sir Gareth, or anyone here I will not hesitate to throw you out of my home, middle of the night or not.” 

Claudus opened his mouth, then paused, apparently assessing how serious he thought I was. I stared back, my coldest expression on my face, and the man finally swallowed and glanced away. “Ah, I...apologise for any misunderstanding.” 

Elaine saved the moment from becoming unbearably awkward by speaking up then. “Lord Claudus, when you are finished with your meal I would be happy to show you to your room in the guest wing.” 

*  *  *  *

Unfortunately, with Claudus staying the night, there was no way I could stay in Lance’s rooms unless we wanted to risk re-igniting the lord’s ire. I decided that keeping the peace was worth a night away from Lance, but laying down in the cold bed I began to doubt. I had grown used to having a warm body beside me, and the room felt chill and empty and very dark without Lance there. I growled at myself quietly; I was  Knight and perfectly capable of sleeping alone. Nonetheless, it took me a long while to fall asleep, and then I only rested fitfully. 

I woke before dawn the next morning. My chest and head both ached, and I knew it was because the bond was still too fresh for Lance and I to be separated like this. It was the first time we had been apart for more than an hour or so, and I was certainly suffering for it. Suppressing a whimper, I rolled over and curled up on my wide, wrapping the blankets more firmly around me in an effort to feel warm - it didn’t work. I was so very, very alone. Tears pricked my eyes and I fought to swallow them down. Just being apart from Lancelot for a single night was proving almost unbearable; what would happen when we returned to Camelot? It would be a terrible risk for both of us if we were found out, so I could hardly expect to sleep in his bed all the time. Besides, I knew how proud a man Lance was, and Claudus’ words must have stung. My lover had handled it well, I thought, but dealing with a minor back-country lord with no power was very different than dealing with Camelot’s Court and the nobles that populated it, some of whom were powerful indeed. Would Lance be willing to take the risk of alienating them? As a king himself, and as Arthur’s Champion, he had much more to lose - and marks against his name could reflect badly on the royal family. I knew Lance well enough to know that he saw it as his job to protect them against  _ all  _ threats, including those presented by guilt-by-association with him. I shuddered. Things had been so perfect. Why couldn’t it have lasted just a few more days?

A while later, I decided that there were better things to do than lie in bed and feel sorry for myself. I rose with the intention of going out to the salle for a while, but the moment I was upright the room tilted disconcertingly around me and I sat back down abruptly.  _ Oh _ . I took stock of my body, and only belatedly remembered that it was less than a week since the Morrigan had taken a part of my soul to save Lancelot’s life. Apparently the distance between us (even the relatively small distance from one side of the villa to the other) was enough to illicit a negative reaction from me. I groaned and rubbed at my forehead with a shaky hand, wondering if Lance felt as awful as I did. I hoped not. 

Deciding that perhaps breakfast would make me feel a bit more human, I collected myself, dressed carefully, and made my way slowly toward the kitchens. I must have looked reasonably pathetic, because once I was there the Cook pointed me to a chair and brought me fresh scones, hot bacon, and a mug of mulled wine. I murmured my thanks and began to eat cautiously, half expecting my stomach to rebel (happily, it didn’t). 

I stayed in the calming warmth of the kitchens until Cook’s increasingly concerned looks compelled me to offer up an attempt at a reassuring smile and take myself off. I entered the main hall just as Claudus was taking his leave of Lancelot, and even just seeing my lover made me feel somewhat better - although it did not allay my concerns about the repercussions of this unfortunate visit. Claudus saw me and leered vaguely, causing Lance to turn. He saw me, and his icy eyes softened perceptibly, even from across the room, causing my stomach to flip, though I couldn’t tell if it was a pleasant or an unpleasant feeling; I loved that I had that effect on him, but I was still nervous. I didn’t want to lose this. 

*  *  *  *

I had slept terribly, tossing and turning as the ache in my chest grew. I recognized it from before, but this time it did not get as bad - just enough to add to my increasing levels of stress. I had no doubt that Gareth loved me. But. The fact was that he was young, and still making a name for himself, and with no land or title his reputation as a Knight was everything. How could I possibly expect him to risk the Court in Camelot finding out about the two of us? Claudus leering and needling was bad enough, Court would be many times worse, and people there would actually have the power to do something, to harm Gareth. I was more or less untouchable - for a variety of reasons - but Gareth was not. And now I had to stand here and send Claudus on his way without giving in to the urge to simply toss him out on his pudgy ass. As we exchanged parting pleasantries (though our voices were anything but pleasant), Claudus eyes suddenly slid sideways and he leered slightly. I turned to see Gareth emerging from the guest wing, looking even worse than I felt. 

“Well well well, look who finally-”

“Get out.” Claudus looked at me, startled, and I repeated myself in the sort of low, deadly voice that could make anyone short of Arthur cringe away, “Get out of my home.” 

Claudus’ already pasty face blanched further, and he beat a hasty retreat. With that nuisance out of my hair, I went over to where Gareth was standing, staring vaguely at the door. My heart clenched; he looked awful, and I couldn’t shake the fear that he wasn’t going to want me after the incident with Claudus. He didn’t reach out for me when I stopped in front of him, but I got an unexpected wash of emotion down our bond - uncertainty and  _ fear.  _ And also a strong desire to be held. Ignoring the fact that there were indeed other people in the room, I stepped forward and wrapped him up in my arms. “Oh little one,” I whispered to him, “It’s alright, it’s going to be alright.” 

Gareth shuddered, then relaxed. The pain in my chest eased rapidly; and Gareth took a deep, shaky breath. “Oh. Oh that feels so much better.” 

“Being apart was hard on you?” I asked, though it was pretty clear that it had been. Gareth nodded into my shoulder, then stepped back carefully and glanced around. 

“You…?”

I realized what he meant. “I trust everyone here,” I said by way of explaining my entirely uncharacteristic public display of affection. Then, because that sounded somewhat callous to me, I added, “And you felt like you needed it.”

He perked up very slightly. “You are starting to be able to feel me when we’re not touching?”

“So it seems.”

Gareth smiled at me uncertainly, then his face fell again. “We...probably need to talk…”

I suppressed a sigh and agreed, my stomach already twisting with apprehension and anticipated emotional pain. 

We retreated to my rooms, Gareth going to stand near the fire, as if needing to get warm, me hovering near the door. I hated the awkwardness between us. 

“So. Claudus,” said Gareth slowly, not looking at me. 

“He’s a bastard and I’m sorry you had to meet him.” 

Gareth shrugged a little. “There are a lot of people in the world like him, who will say those sorts of things if they find out about us.” 

I closed my eyes briefly, gathering my strength. “No matter how careful we are, there is a good chance that people at Court  _ will _ find out about us. I know we’ve managed up ‘til now, but...the closer we become the harder it is to hide.”

We both descended into silence for long moments. There was no arguing with what I had said, the only question was which of the two of us would speak first. It was Gareth, as it turned out, and I wasn’t particularly surprised; he always was the stronger of the two of us, the more willing to confront difficult truths. And yet what he said surprised me. “I understand if it’s not a risk you want to take. Your reputation reflects on the King and Queen; you have a kingdom of your own and-” I didn’t let him get any farther. 

“ _ That’s  _ what you’re worried about?!” 

He blinked at me. “Yes? Why? Isn’t that your concern?”

I stared at him dumbly for a moment before managing, “No! Gods, no! I don’t give a fuck about my reputation, and Arthur and Guinevere can take care of themselves. I assumed you would be worried about  _ your  _ reputation! You’re right - I have a kingdom and a life. You...don’t. You need your reputation far more than I need mine; you’re vulnerable in a way that I’m not. I assumed...I assumed you were worried about that.”

Gareth shook his head slowly. “No. I mean, you’re right. I…” he glanced down, “I’m vulnerable to the whims of the Court because I’m not landed or titled. But...no, that’s not what I was worried about. I haven’t got as much to lose as you do, Lance. I really just have  _ you  _ to lose.” He looked up at me again. “You’re my...my family, I suppose. My…” Gareth shrugged awkwardly, “You’re everything.” 

Uncharacteristically, I felt tears sting my eyes. “Gods, I love you,” I murmured, slumping against the door for a moment before gathering myself and going to him, taking him in my arms and holding him close. I breathed in Gareth’s scent - woodsmoke and horse and the pine that he packed with his clothes to make them smell nice. I wanted to convey without words that  I felt the same, since I knew I was incapable of actually repeating the sentiment, much as I would have liked to. 

“Quite the pair, aren’t we?” he asked with a weak little laugh, returning my embrace slowly, “Each worried about the risks to the  _ other  _ of people finding out about our relationship.”

I drew back just enough to take his face in my hands, “It’s a risk I’m willing to take. And I’ll protect you as best as I can. But if it’s not something that you-” 

He cut me off with a brief kiss. “Like I said, I haven’t got much to lose.” 

It was a lie. He had everything to lose - money, station, security. But I was sure that Arthur wouldn’t let that happen, and nor would I. We couldn’t protect him from everything, but we could shelter Gareth from the worst of it. 

“I suppose we’ll just have to hope that we can be discreet, and that people will be so caught up with their absurd idea about me sleeping with the Queen that they won’t think twice about you and I…”

“You’re worth it anyway,” Gareth mumbled into my shoulder, then raised his head to kiss me again, deeper and more passionate this time. Desire rippled through my body, hot and fast and overwhelming. I tightened my arm around his waist, raised my other hand to tangle in his hair, and kissed him back like I was drowning and he was air. It was a familiar sensation to me, but one I rarely acted on. This morning, I didn’t see any reason to hold back. 

Gareth moaned against my lips, grasped at the sides of my doublet and turned us around so that I was pressed up against the stone beside the mantle. We stayed like that until we had to break the kiss to come up for air, then I reversed our positions and slid my arms under his thighs, picking him up. Gareth locked his legs around my waist and gasped as his back hit the wall - gasped with pleasure, not pain. I couldn’t keep this up for long; Gareth was small but well-muscled and so not as light as his slender frame would make it appear. But I was determined to get as close to him as possible, to have as much of our bodies touching as possible. It wasn’t enough. With a frustrated growl, I made sure I had a good grip on him, then carried Gareth over to the bed, dumping him unceremoniously on the mattress and crawling eagerly over him to kiss him again. 

We grasped at each other, rolling around in the big, soft bed, and kissing with a sort of desperate passion. And it still wasn’t enough. I sat up, knees on either side of Gareth’s hips, holding him in place, and began fumbling with the laces on his doublet. He batted my hands away. “Do your own,” he commanded, already beginning to tear at his own clothing with deft fingers. We stripped quickly, then kissed again, with the same desperate passion as before, as if we had been apart for months rather than a single night. 

“You’re mine,” I growled in Gareth’s ear, running my hands down his sides to make him squirm. He did, writhing between my legs, under my body, and grinned up at me. 

“Yes, I am.” 

I was a little surprised by my own possessiveness, but Gareth’s response, open and warm and utterly unguarded, made my heart stutter pleasantly. I would never, ever get enough of him - and I still couldn’t believe that I was lucky enough to have him. 

*  *  *  *

In the grey morning light, Lancelot and I had perhaps the most passionate sex of our relationship, and certainly the most possessive. His hands grasped at me, held me down, held me close. He mouthed at my collarbone and neck, then bit my shoulder hard enough to bruise - and I shuddered pleasantly at that thought, loving the idea of being marked by him. Lance wasn’t gentle, and I didn’t want him to be. He prepared me only quickly, with a rare lack of regard for my comfort or enjoyment. It wasn’t because he didn’t care, but because he  _ needed  _ to be inside of me. And I needed the same, so urged him on, not even minding the burn and ache. Lance didn’t give me even a moment to catch my breath, leaving me gasping and grasping at him. It was overwhelming and wonderful and over all too soon. 

We sprawled across the bed, sweat cooling on our bodies, breathe coming quick and heavy. Our sex usually tended more toward ‘lovemaking’ than toward ‘fucking’, even when were were having a bit of fun. Even when we were fucking, it was never quite like  _ that _ . I found myself trying (and failing) to suppress a giggle. Lancelot glanced over at me, skeptical and vaguely concerned. It only made me laugh harder. “That,” I said breathlessly, “Was bloody brilliant.” 

A smile tugged at the edges of Lance’s mouth. “Yes, it was.” 

“I sure didn’t enjoy spending the night apart - the bond made it hard - but... _ Fucking hell _ that was good.” 

And then we were both laughing helplessly, Lancelot rolling over to wrap me up in his arms, simply happy to be alive and  _ here _ . It was a rare feeling for him, and we both basked in it.  Lyonesse had been hell, and putting up with bastards like Claudus made my skin crawl, but  _ gods was it ever worth it for these moments _ . I voiced as much to Lancelot when we had both calmed slightly, and he sighed and nodded against my neck and articulated the other half of what I was thinking: “Ye gods I love you. More than I can say. I suppose as long as that is true, we handle the rest.”

I brought my hand up to tangle it in his hair, adding, “I love you too. And that will  _ always  _ be true.” Sappy but earnest, and it earned me another kiss, this one slow and searching and tinged with profound emotion. We stayed like that for a long time, not caring that the day moved on around us. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come say hi on Tumblr (I'm GwynDuLac there too). I'm happy to talk about my ideas for the future of this story, because I have zero self control and thus will share spoilers. And/or leave me a comment here. They make my day, and give me energy to write (which I badly need right now).


	8. How Badly I Want To Do This

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A nice little interlude after last chapter's drama. AKA Lance and Gareth go hunting, and we learn a bit more about Gareth's childhood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter is actually properly edited - albeit lightly. As always, feel free to drop me a comment if there are any egregious errors.

We re-appeared around mid-morning, and I brutally quashed the impulse to be embarrassed by the knowing looks that Cook and Elaine cast our way. Both were clearly suppressing smirks. However, Gareth’s eyes were still sated, and he was projecting warm happiness down our bond, so I forced myself not to care what people thought of us. 

“What shall we do with the rest of the day?” I asked Gareth as we ate a late breakfast composed of odds and ends from the kitchen. 

I shrugged. I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do - besides not let Gareth out of my sight. The weather had improved somewhat; it was no longer raining, but it was still cloudy and cool. On a whim, I asked Gareth, “How would you feel about going hunting?”

Gareth gave me a vaguely surprised look. Back in Camelot I was known for rather disliking hunting, but what I disliked were the large, contrived Court hunts. And outside of Court hunts I usually only hunted for food, which was  _ not  _  enjoyable. The chance to spend a day out in the forest with Gareth with no pressure to succeed at hunting was suddenly rather appealing. Suddenly Gareth smiled sweetly at me. “Just you and I?” 

“Whatever you want,” I told him, smiling too now. Claudus had been right to an extent - Gareth had me wrapped around his finger. I didn’t mind one bit. 

“What kind of hunting?” countered Gareth. 

I considered the question. “My huntsman keeps a small kennel and a couple of falcons - have to feed a household afterall.” 

Gareth considered, then asked, “Would you be terribly disappointed if I said that I just wanted to take a couple of bows and see what we can bag? Go after deer maybe, for a bit of a challenge?” 

“Not at all,” I assured him, thinking that a day spent in the forest with Gareth and a no-pressure occupation to occupy us actually sounded quite perfect. 

After telling Elaine where we were going and informing Cook that, with a little luck, there would be extra meat for supper that evening, we changed into hunting clothes, each selected a good strong bow and full quiver of arrows, and set out on Equinox and Xiphos.  

Although I didn’t spend a great deal of time at my estate, I  _ did  _ know where the good hunting was. We rode for about half an hour in companionable silence, stopping deep in the forest and tethering the two war horses loosely so they could graze. Then we set off on foot. 

“There’s a pond not far from here,” I murmured, careful to keep my voice low so it would not carry and scare off the game. Gareth nodded for me to lead and I did so, noting absently that, even though I knew Gareth was right behind me, I could barely hear him. His skill made me smile. 

We settled in down wind of the pond, arrows notched to wait and see what sort of game would come to drink. It was peaceful, though it would have been rather lonely without the company. And speaking of company, after a few long minutes I couldn’t help but notice that Gareth was watching me rather than the pond. 

“Copper for your thoughts?”

Gareth shot me a cheeky little smile. “Just admiring the scenery.”

I felt my face heat with a blush and glanced away, unsure how to reply or react to that statement. But I could still feel his eyes on me, so after a moment I forced myself to look back his direction. He was grinning at me, eyes bright and happy, which prompted me to tease gently, “ _ You  _ are a brat.”

“I am,” he agreed, grin turning sharper, “Are you going to spank me for it?”

“Not right now,” I admonished him, choking back a laugh at his barely-hidden eagerness. I had to admit that the idea of putting him over my lap made desire pool in my gut. I mentally paused for a moment and considered that. I had been so wary at first of hurting him in any way, and yet suddenly I wanted to? No, I thought, it was the idea of holding him down, the delicious feeling of him squirming under my hands; it was the knowledge that he was willingly making himself vulnerable for me because he enjoyed it - and the feeling his own intense pleasure feeding back through our bond.  _ Especially _ that last one. “Focus,” I murmured, as much to myself as to Gareth. 

“Suit yourself,” he said with no heat whatsoever. 

However, after about an hour, we had seen no wildlife bigger than a rabbit, which we had mutually decided wasn’t worth our time. My estate’s huntsman brought back small game nearly every day to feed the household. We were looking for something to make a proper feast out of. If we had been relying upon the day’s hunt for a meal, it would have been different, and we probably would have stayed by the pond and kept waiting. Instead, we stood stretched out stiff joints, and set off in hopes of better fortune elsewhere. 

We walked silently, bows ready to be drawn and fired at a moment’s notice. Together, communicating in gestures and whispers, we followed a deer track as it meandered north and east. I wasn’t as concerned as I probably should have been about the possibility of us getting lost. Between Gareth and I we had the knowledge and skill set to get ourselves  _ un _ lost, should the need arise. 

It was immensely calming, actually, spending time alone with Gareth, exercising some of our talents with no one’s life on the line. The weather was passable, there was a light breeze, and the forest was beautiful. Claudus and Camelot’s Court were far, far from my mind. 

*  *  *  *

I let Lance lead, mostly so that I could watch (and admire) the way he moved, easing silently through the undergrowth, prowling almost - like the predator that he was. I had always enjoyed that about Lance, but it was even better now that he was  _ mine _ . I’d spent years admiring him covertly; it was a relief bigger than I could say to be able to do so openly. Or, at least, to do it openly in private. I resolutely refused to think about going back to Camelot and back to carefully hiding our relationship. It was necessary, but that didn’t mean I liked it. 

I was so caught up admiring my lover (and if I claimed I didn't still shiver at that thought, I was lying), that I almost didn't notice when he stopped abruptly, and narrowly avoided walking right into him. With my attention recalled to my surroundings, I realized that we had stopped within sight of a little glade where a small herd of deer were grazing, a buck, three does, and a single spotted fawn. 

Lance leaned close and breathed in my ear, “I’ll let you have first shot at the buck.”

_ First _ shot? Ha! At this range I almost could have made the shot with my eyes closed. But I appreciated the gesture, and actually felt a little thrill go through me as I smoothly pulled back my bow. It wasn’t that this was a challenging or thrilling hunt - it was that I was freely allowed to hunt on a nobleman’s lands. I made a mental note to tell Lance later about my first experiences with ‘hunting,’ let out a slow breath, and loosed the arrow. 

My aim was true and the arrow struck the buck in his heart, bringing a swift and nearly painless death. His collapse startled the rest of the herd, which fled quickly into the depths of the forest. 

“Well,” said Lance, stepping out into the glade, “What say you? Shall we keep hunting, or call it a day?”

I considered, glancing up at the sky. It was not yet midday, and the weather was steadily improving. “I say we keep hunting, see if we can’t bring back enough for a proper feast.” We’d have to be sure to leave Cook and her helpers enough time to prepare the food, but that was still doable. Lancelot grinned at me, the sort of happy,  _ carefree _ expression that almost never graced his features. It made him look younger, and, more importantly, warmed my heart. “Come on then,” I added, forcing the words out around the sudden lump in my throat, “Let’s haul this one back to the horses so we can look elsewhere. Unless you think our best bet is to stay in this area?”

We decided to stay in this part of the woods, so we carefully hoisted my kill up into a tree too keep other predators from stealing it, then set off again. I actually somewhat doubted that we would have such good luck a second time, but hunting with Lance was proving quite enjoyable regardless. 

He led us a little farther on, to a place where a small river slowed and widened, exactly the kind of place animals would come to drink. There were none there at the moment, but as we settled in to watch and wait I noticed a substantial number of waterfowl in the reeds and tall grass opposite us. I nudged Lance and gestured, wondering if he would take my meaning. He did, of course, beginning to withdraw arrows from his quiver and place them point-down in the ground in front of him. I followed suit. Once we began shooting, the fowl would likely startle, leaving us precious little time to bring down as many as possible. Retrieving our own kills would be challenging without of a tracking dog, but we could afford to lose a couple of birds and arrows. 

Lance and I were both perfectly competent archers. There were Knights more talented at this particular skill (particularly Tristan), but Lance and I could more than hold our own. So it was that between the two of us we managed to bag a fair number of fowl.  I let Lance shoot first this time, since he had so kindly given me first change at the buck. His first arrow struck home, startling the other birds into flight, and we each got off as many arrows as possible; it was a rather fine archery exercise, really. I got off six arrows, four of which struck their targets. Lance had similar fortune. 

He glanced over at me and said in a light, teasing voice, “Hope you don’t mind getting a wet.”

For a moment, I couldn’t reply, too caught up by the desire to somehow capture and preserve the expression on Lance’s face, the light dancing in his eyes. Then I gathered my wits and replied with a laugh, “Not a bit!” 

We managed to recover six good-sized fowl, which, added to the buck I had killed, was the makings of a rather fine feast indeed. 

We tied up the pheasants by their feet to make them easier to carry, then began making our way back to the glen where we had left the deer. As we walked, Lance asked, “So...are you enjoying this.” 

“Oh, very much!” I assured him. 

“I didn’t realize that you liked hunting…” he prompted.

I shrugged. “Hunting for pleasure is a novelty to me,” I explained, “I’ve only done it a couple of times at Court - I usually just go along as a guard or a helper, if I go at all.”

“And,” put in Lance with a grumble, “That is hardly  _ enjoyable  _ hunting most of the time.” 

I nodded my agreement and went on. “And of course before I came to Camelot...well, we weren’t even allowed to own proper weapons, never mind to hunt on the lord’s land - which everything was.” I felt Lance’s discomfort with this reminder of the rather less-than-ideal childhood I had had, so I pressed on quickly, “Have I ever told you about my first experiences with ‘hunting’?” My lover shook his head, intrigued and vaguely concerned. “Well,” I began, “We weren’t allowed to keep proper weapons, but we  _ were  _ supposed to keep the birds and other small wildlife from doing too much damage to the fields. So, the compromise was to allow some of the children slingshots. I think the idea was that it was unlikely that we would think to do any real damage with them, or that we’d even be capable of it. But that’s not the point. Since I was the youngest and smallest in my family and not much help in the fields, my job was to sit off to one side, ‘specially when the workers weren’t in the fields, and use a slingshot to deter any animals that came by. Now, most of the boys didn’t have good aim; they just used the stones to frighten the birds and whatnot. But I learned how to throw with a great deal of accuracy, and was actually able to kill a handful of birds and things, which my family could then eat.”  I decided not to mention that I usually only stunned the animals with the stone, and had to kill them other ways, often with my hands. I didn’t want to ruin our idyllic little walk through the woods. I added instead, “I also learned that most of the animals came at night, so I was allowed to stay out at night. I learned to be very still and quiet and patient because it meant real meat at meals.” I was willing to do most anything for meat at meals. 

Lance was quiet for a moment, then, “No wonder you’re so bloody good with throwing daggers!” He was genuinely impressed though, I could tell, and that brought a smile to my face. 

After a few minutes of silence, I mused aloud, “I was actually thinking earlier how surreal it seems to be doing this, to be allowed to hunt properly on the lord’s lands. And just for fun too!” I laughed a little. “So yes, Lance, I’m enjoying this very much; and I’m especially enjoying doing it with you.”

Lance reached over with his free hand, the one that wasn’t carrying dead waterfowl, and gave the back of my neck a gentle squeeze, unintentionally sending a rather pleasant little shiver down my spine. 

*  *  *  *

Gareth’s little story carried us most of the rest of the way back to the glade. Arriving there, we deposited our waterfowl on the ground, and I stepped back and crossed my arms,  considering the best way to go about hauling the buck back to where we had left the horses. Before I could say anything, however, Gareth slipped up behind me and slid his arms around my waist. I turned carefully to face him. He was looking up at me with that mischievous light in his eyes that I had been seeing more and more of lately. “And what’s all this about?” I asked teasingly. 

“I wanted to thank you for the idea to spend the day this way. It’s been lovely.” 

I chose not to point out that we were both damp and muddy to our knees, not to mention tired and rather hungry. Instead, I commented blandly, “We still have a fair amount of work to-” but he cut me off with a slow, passionate kiss. _ Oh _ . So it was  _ that  _ sort of thanking me that he had in mind. 

“Come, we’re not in  _ that _ big a rush,” he murmured against my lips, “And I’ve spent all morning admiring you.”

That pulled a little chuckle from me, and I slipped my arms around him. “Flatterer.” 

“Is it really flattery if it’s true?” 

“Yes,” I informed him him firmly, then spun us both around and put his back up against a tree. “But you know what they say,” I went on, kissing my way down his throat, “Flattery will get you everywhere.” 

“Indeed!” he laughed, then, more seriously, “I’ve always loved watching you hunt.” 

I drew back enough to give him a Look, and he returned a smirk, and proceeded to tell me in great detail about watching me all morning, making me blush painfully until I decided to shut him up with a kiss. Gareth stood on his tiptoes and clung to me and returned the gesture enthusiastically. I let my hands rove over his chest and sides, marvelling at how small his waist felt in my grip. He liked it too, his pleasure shivering along our bond. I squeezed a little tighter and Gareth whimpered with desire. “Want you,” he breathed, “Ah gods. Fuck, Lance, I want you…”

“Not here,” I said regretfully. 

“Oh for fuck sake, there is  _ no one _ around!” Gareth didn’t sound angry, just desperate. His hands were working working at the laces on my doublet. 

“You’re going to be difficult about this, aren’t you?” I asked with a laugh. 

“I’m stubborn. Learned it from you.”

“That you are.” About that time, Gareth’s hands finally slipped inside of my shirt, and it was my turn to shudder and curse. 

I grappled with my self control, trying to get myself back together. “L-let’s go back where there’s a bed and the Roman baths…Wouldn’t that be nicer?”

Gareth laughed. Actually threw his head back and laughed. “Oh Lance. You have  _ no  _ idea how much I want to do this here, do you?”

“I…”

“Lance, the first time I realized that I  _ wanted  _ you - that I wanted to have  _ sex  _ with you - we were out in a forest just like this; you’d taken me out to practice tracking for several days. We were following Tristan, remember?” I nodded shakily. Oh I remembered. Ye gods, Gareth hadn’t even been  _ knighted  _ yet! “I wouldn’t have dreamed of acting on it at the time, of course,” he went on, as if sensing the trend of my thoughts, “And I probably wouldn’t have wanted _ you _ to do anything along those lines.  _ But _ that doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy the parallels today.” 

“O-oh…”

“Is that alright?”

“I...I think so,” I said honestly, “I’m still trying to come to terms with how long you’ve wanted me…”

Gareth flipped us around again and began tugging at the laces of my breeches. But he kept talking in the same calm, measured tone. “I know you wouldn’t have dreamed of doing anything when I was younger. But I know that now that we are together you like the idea that I was your squire - you don’t like to  _ admit  _ to it because you’re worried about what it means, but I know you like it. I like it too; it’s perfectly dirty and deliciously wrong. But Lance, there’s a difference between being here, now, and finding the thought of it hot, and actually having wanted me when I was that young. You didn’t, and that’s good. But  _ for the love of god _ just relax about it already. And  _ enjoy  _ it.” So saying, he sank to his knees, pulling my breeches down with him. I opened my mouth to protest again, but then what Gareth had said began to process. And not just what he had said, but all the emotional subtext that had come across our bond as well. I understood suddenly what Gareth had meant. It was fine to play this out as a little fantasy now, both of us adults and  _ very  _ much interested in the proceedings. Enjoying it  _ now  _ didn’t mean anything about before. I sighed and let my head fall back against the tree behind me, a knot of tension in my chest dissipating with the assurance that there wasn’t something wrong with me for being turned on by the fact that my lover had once been my squire. And at that point I stopped thinking entirely because Gareth’s clever, clever mouth went to work. 

Once I had recovered my breath somewhat, I grabbed and Gareth’s doublet and hauled him roughly to his feet to kiss the life out of him. He moaned into my mouth, melting against me, a feeling I was rapidly growing addicted to. I held him like that, one arm firmly around his waist, and began to undo his breeches with my free hand.  I proceeded to jerk him off firmly, careful not make a mess of either of us since we still had to ride back to the villa. Then I just held him carefully for a few minutes while he caught his breath. Eventually, Gareth turned his head and rested it against my shoulder, rubbing against me, almost cat-like, and made a soft, pleased humming noise. “Thank you for letting me do that.”

“Thank you for doing that,” I replied, marvelling silently that I was  _ so incredibly lucky  _ in having someone like Gareth love me and  _ want  _ me. 

He hummed again, visibly gathered himself, and straightened up. “Right. We should be getting back. I want to leave Cook time to make a proper feast.”

“Shall we invite everyone? Make it a proper feast?” I asked, stepping back and giving myself a mental shake, “The weather will probably be nice enough to use the courtyard if not everyone can fit in the hall.”

Gareth looked at me like I had offered him the moon on a platter. “You’d do that?”

“I often do that when I come back here. Gives everyone a chance to see me. And a little celebration never hurt anyone. I’ll make sure they know that tomorrow can be a rest day so that everyone can stay late tonight, and-” Gareth kissed me before I could get the rest of that sentence out. 

“That sounds  _ perfect _ .”

I realized suddenly that any experience he would have had with these sorts of fetes would have been as a child, and I was getting the impression that the local lord he had been raised under had  _ not  _ been a good or understanding person. In that moment, I decided that I was going to do everything I could to make sure he enjoyed this evening. I really did have no impulse control when it came to spoiling Gareth - and I really didn’t care. 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos are love (this chapter got done when it did because of someone leaving me comments) : )
> 
> Come say hi on [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/gwyndulac)!  
> (Oh look! I made a link work!)


	9. Midsummer Night's Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lancelot hosts a feast as he promised Gareth that the would, and Gareth gets to see a different side of his lover for the evening - landed Lord rather than King's Champion. It's all very surreal, and gives Gareth all sorts of Ideas that lead to lots of fun once the guests leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a long chapter - 6500 words. I've been trying to finish it up for several days but it just kept _growing_. It also is only lightly edited, so apologies in advance for typos. If you point them out, I'll go back and fix them. 
> 
> Blame the title on WeCouldPretend; she's the one who gave me the idea that led to it. ; )

I had promised myself that I would make this evening as enjoyable as possible for Gareth, and, as if the gods had decided to help me keep that promise, the day grew warmer and sunnier as the evening approached. I said a quiet quasi-prayer that the gods _weren’t_ actually interfering - I didn’t want to deal with the complications that would inevitably arise from that, then turned my attention back to the scene before me. The main gates were thrown open wide and the courtyard had taken on a rather festive appearance by virtue of it being lantern-lit and full of people. My household was certainly not big enough to include a bard or minstrel, but there were a few people who knew how to play reed flutes and simple drums, so there was music on a somewhat ad hoc basis. What they lacked in formal training they made up for in enthusiasm and simply joy. It was cheerful and lively and I tried to relax and enjoy it.

I wasn’t the sort of person to enjoy large groups of people (they were ingrained in my training and instincts as a security risk), and I _hated_ being the center of attention, which, as the lord, I had to be tonight. On the other hand, this was an eminently unthreatening crowd - and Gareth was fairly glowing with happiness. I kept one eye on him as I greeted guests, taking time to chat with those who were bold enough to pursue a conversation. I didn’t spend much time on my lands, but I tried to take good care of the people that lived here, and they appreciated my efforts. The worship in their eyes made me a little uncomfortable, but seeing their enjoyment warmed me. The children in particular were all but vibrating with excitement, Galahad happily showing them around. That boy, for all his shyness, had the makings of a natural leader.

Cook had pulled together quite an impressive spread in a very short period of time. There was food laid out on tables in the hall for people to enjoy before we sat down for venison a little later. I had given my assent to bring out two barrels of decent ale and set them up in the courtyard. As people partook, a few began dancing to the lively tune the musicians were playing, and I took that as my cue to retreat into the background, leaning against the wall and watching the festivities. Gareth soon joined me, smiling and flushed. It was a good look on him, and one that that a selfish, possessive part of me didn’t want to share. People had been thrilled to meet another Knight of the Round Table, however, and Gareth had of course been charming everyone. I suspected that his ease with these people, and his ability to put _them_ at ease in his presence, was related to the fact that he had been born into their class (albeit in a worse situation). Of course, his boyish good looks certainly helped, and I couldn’t help but notice that plenty of the young women (and some not so young) flirting with him. I ruthlessly quashed the worst of my possessive impulses and smiled over at him.

“Living up to your expectations?”

“More than!”

I laughed and resisted the urge to reach out and tousle his hair. “Good, I’m glad,” I said seriously, then, “You look good.” He did too. He had changed back into the elegant clothes that Guinevere had packed for him, and tied his hair back.  In other words, Gareth looked _damn_ good, and I was certainly not the only one who had noticed that. Still, I consoled myself, I was the one he was going to bed with that night...The thought made me smile a little, and Gareth noted something in the expression.

He chuckled at me. “Thank you. So do you. I take it you’re thinking about-” I elbowed him to shut him up, not wanting to risk someone overhearing whatever he had been about to say. It just made him laugh harder, but his eyes were full of affection for me - enough to make me blush, so I pointedly looked away to tried to gather myself.

*  *  *  *

Lance was actually rather flustered, which was adorable. I wasn’t sure if it was because he was having to actually play the lord, or because of something I had done. I suspected a combination of the two. Regardless, I let him keep his dignity for the time being. It gave me chance to simply _watch_ him, which was a pleasure all its own.

Since he did have to be the lord for the evening, he had put on clothes in his own house colors, a pair of grey doeskin breeches, and a finely woven woolen doublet dyed light blue and trimmed in white and silver. He had washed up after we went hunting, and left his hair down, only tying back the front. The combined effect was odd (though not at all unpleasant) because the blue doublet softened his eyes and made him look younger, but the way his hair was pulled away from his face revealed the silver at his temples. I for one very much liked the look, and had been admiring it all evening.

“You’re staring,” Lance informed me without actually looking in my direction.

“Yes,” I agreed shamelessly, “I am. Still admiring the scenery.”

That earned me another blush, which I counted as a victory, but Lance wasn’t looking at me. Instead, he was watching the growing number of dancers. Laugher filled the courtyard, intertwining with the strains of music drifting up into the dusk sky. He sighed almost imperceptibly. “Do you ever wish…” he began, then stopped and shook his head a little.

“What?” I pressed.

“Nothing. I’m being silly.”

“You’re rarely silly,” I told him, edging closer so our shoulders were just barely touching. In an intentionally light tone I went on, “I actually rather like it when you’re silly. And I’d like to know what you're thinking now.”  

Lance shrugged. Whatever he was feeling was a tangled knot of longing and melancholy, but it wasn’t overwhelming. After a long moment of silent, he finally answered my implicit question. “Do you ever wish we could do things like that?” Lance was still watching the dancers, so his meaning was clear enough.

I was rather stunned. “You...you want to dance with me?”

Another long silence, then, spoken so softly that I had to strain to hear: “I want to have the option of dancing with you. I want...I don’t like having to hide what we have. But realistically it’s better this way. And I know I wouldn’t want all of the...attention and _judgement_ that would come with it.”

I reached down and gave Lance’s fingers a brief squeeze. “I understand.”

“Do you regret it?”

“Regret what? Being with you? Not for a moment. And something as silly as not being able to dance with you isn’t going to change that. Besides,” I added, casting a little smirk in Lance’s direction, “I barely know how to dance. Maybe you can teach me some time.”

“You don’t know how to dance?”

I laughed at Lancelot’s scandalized tone. “I learned a little as a squire, but only a very little.”

My lover hummed thoughtfully, but made no further comment about dancing with me. Instead, he teased gently, “I’m sure there are a number of young women here who would be more than happy to teach you to dance tonight.”

I snorted impolitely. It was strange to me, actually, how interested everyone was in me. Logically I supposed it made sense that these people wanted to meet another Knight, but in comparison to Lancelot I was essentially unknown.  “I’m not interested in them, you know that, right?” I assured Lance, glancing over at him.

He smiled. “I know. Surely you’re flattered though?”

“It’s just...strange,” I replied, “It’s strange to think that they look up to me in some way, that they look at me and see a knight; and I look at them and see the people I grew up with…”

Lance nodded slowly. “I would imagine that is very odd.”

“It is. But...it’s also part of why I’m enjoying this.”

“Oh? So the evening is living up to your expectations?

“Certainly!” I assured him. Practically the whole week here had been like a fantasy. Lance was giving me an expected look and I realized he was waiting for me to voice what I was thinking. “It’s been…like I stepped into a slightly different world. Like I’m a character in a story or song.” That wasn’t quite it, but I couldn’t fully articulate what I was feeling, so instead I laid my fingers on Lance’s wrist and let him feel it all instead, tried to help him see the evening - the last few days - through my eyes. I had been plopped down in this idyllic little villa, lover to a king. I might as well have been living in a song about the human lover a fae lord. That last thought startled a proper laugh out of Lancelot. I bridled a little. “It’s not so strange!” I protested aloud, gesturing at the lantern-lit courtyard before us. The sunset over the western wall was spectacular, painting the sky brilliant oranges, reds, and purples. It was more than that, though. “It’s not a strange comparison to draw,” I said lowly, fighting a smile, “You’re a king and I was born a serf. You’ve made me your lover and whisked me away to your beautiful estate and pampered me terribly.”

Lance gave my fingers a quick squeeze before carefully withdrawing his hand. I knew he was nervous, with so many people around, that someone outside of the immediate household would notice something. I understood, and didn’t mind terribly, not when everything else was so lovely.

Shortly thereafter, Cook announced that supper was ready, and everyone crowded inside the hall to find seats at the long tables. The high table was occupied by Elaine and Galahad (who looked like he was having the time of his life), and the two village headmen and their wives. Lancelot sat me to his left, again. The meal began without any sort of formal indication except from Cook. It probably shouldn’t have surprised me that Lancelot managed avoid speaking or giving a toast, but it did a bit.

As I ate, I watched the room curiously. It was a novelty to me, to see the sort of people I had grown up around - peasants - laughing and happy in their lord’s home. Children sat on their parents laps, eating greedily - but not as if they were starving. Had I been presented with this much food at the age of six or seven, I wouldn’t have known what to do with myself, especially _good_ food like this was. In point of fact, I _hadn’t_ known what to do with myself the first time I had had a meal in Camelot - flavorful, hearty food and as much of it as I could eat! I’d made myself sick the first few days, until I learned that the food wasn’t going anywhere and I wouldn’t be allowed to go hungry.

Amwadd, the lord who ruled the land where my village was located, was not a kind lord. I could only recall one time when there had been a celebration large enough to include us serfs, and we had only been given barely edible scraps _after_  everyone else had already had their fill. It was a world away from Lancelot actually going hunting to host a feast for his people. Was it any wonder that, as I had said to him, I felt a bit like I had been swept off by some fae lord into the faery realm?

“What are you thinking about?” asked Lance quietly, obviously noticing my wandering attention.

“I…” I began, then paused and thought, unsure how to articulate the tangle of bittersweet emotions in my chest. “I suppose I’m imagining my family here,” I replied. I hadn’t even realized that until I said it, but it was true.

“That...could probably be arranged…”

I chuckled and shook my head. “It’s not quite as simple as that. We can talk about it another time.”

“Right...and is that all you were thinking about, hm?”

“Not...exactly…” I murmured, reaching out under the table to unobtrusively lay my fingers on his wrist, letting him feel the flood of love and pride that filled me when I saw how well he cared for his people. His surprise and pleasure washed back at me, tinged by an undertone of sadness and anger that I had experienced first hand the way some powerful men treated those they saw as beneath them. Neither of us had a chance to brood on it further, however, as just then Elaine pulled Lance’s attention away to speak with the village headman sitting on her other side. I turned to my dinner companion, the headman of the other village whom hitherto I had been rather impolitely ignoring in favor of my own musings. I introduced myself with my most charming smile in hopes of making up for my ill manners.

He was fairly young to hold a position of leadership in this community, younger than Lance probably, by the look of him, and his wife was a suitably motherly woman who reached across her husband to shake my hand firmly. I decided that I quite liked them, and proceeded to strike up a conversation about how the spring planting season had gone. The man, Bromley, was happy enough to chat about that while I nodded along. His wife, however stopped him after a few minutes with a gentle smack on his arm and the words, “Come now, some lofty Knight from Camelot doesn’t need to hear all of that.”

The words struck me, _wounded_ me almost. I didn’t like the idea that these people, who reminded me so of my own childhood, would see me in that way - an elevated figure unconcerned with their lives. So I let my cultured accent drop a bit more, affecting a less extreme version of the same rural dialect I had used at Lyonesse Castle, and said, “T’be honest, I _am_ interested. I come from a village about the size es yours, dow’ south ‘f here.” To my right, I felt Lance stiffen a little, but my attention was on my dinner companions, who both looked shocked. I elaborated, “I’m peasant-born. Be happy ta tell you th’ story of how I became a knight, but t’be hones’, s’not just that. If’n the King were here, he’d be in’trested in your crops too. Whole country needs food; crops are _damned_ important.”

They were both smiling at me now, with the sort of light in their eyes that said the were suddenly proud of their ordinary existence. I had seen Arthur make that happen any number of times; his ability to help people see how their lives fit into a bigger picture was one of the things that made him such a special leader.  But my interest in their crops was not what caught the attention of Bromley or his wife. “You know the King?” she asked, fascinated. I suppressed a little sigh, mentally preparing myself to spend the rest of the night talking about the King and Camelot, then smiled warmly and nodded.

 

“So, how was dinner?” asked Lancelot much, much later as we finally retreated to his room. Some of the guests remained, drinking and talking into the small hours of the morning (or simply too drunk to bother walking home). Lance had had carts sent to bring the the old folk and children so they wouldn’t have to walk, and he sent them back the same way once the meal was over and the evening winding down. That kind of thoughtfulness made my heart swell in my chest.

I swallowed and forced myself to reply in lighthearted tone, not wanting to be overwhelmed by emotion just now. “Better dinner conversation than Claudus! I like Bromley’s wife especially.” I paused for a moment, then added with a laugh, “Then again, almost anyone would be better than Claudus ….disgusting old man…” I didn't mean anything by the comment, just that he was repugnant both morally and visually, but Lance stopped dead. I walked on two more paces before i noticed that he wasn't beside me, and turned it. Lance was standing in the middle of the hall, very, very still, and giving me the strangest look. “What?” I asked, slightly defensive, “He was cruel and awful…”

“Gareth…” said Lance very slowly, “Claudus...you do realize that he is my age?”

I gaped. I had assumed, given Claudus’ pudgy body, thinning hair, and pasty skin than he was at least ten years Lance’s senior. I said as much by way of apology to Lance, then added, “You should take it as a compliment, you know; you don't look your age. And anyway, you _know_ I like that you're older than me.”

Lance’s expression softened and I sensed his relief and mild amusement. “Yes, you've made that abundantly clear.”

I stepped closer, closing the space between us and looking up into his grey eyes. “So...about what I said earlier…”

“Which bit?” he laughed. He didn't touch me, though I could tell he wanted to. We were still standing in the corridor, just outside his room, and he was uncomfortably aware that we weren't really somewhere private, even though this whole wing was deserted except for the two of us.

I swallowed a grin and glanced down with mock shyness. “The bit about feeling like I've been whisked away…” I trailed off, touching the back of his hand and trying to convey with emotions rather than words what I was feeling, what I wanted. I wanted the confident, lordly, slightly distant version of my lover that I had glimpsed throughout the evening as he acted out the part of lord; I wanted to keep playing out this slightly embarrassing fantasy of being spirited off by some fae lord…

Lancelot chuckled lowly. “But Gareth, I am - partly at least.” I shuddered because that was true and I'd half forgotten that his grandmother was a goddess.

He was uncertain though; he didn't want to do this wrong, or come off as ridiculous. “Just...act a little less familiar than usual,” I told him, “The rest is in my own damn head.”

Lancelot gazed down at me for a long moment, thinking, getting his mind into a slightly different place. Then he laid a hand between my shoulder blades, turned me in the direction of the door to his chambers, and said, low and firm, “Come with me.”

I let him guide me through the door, desire pooling low in my gut at the quiet strength he projected through his firm touches. He stood a little straighter and taller than usual, adopting the noble bearing I only rarely saw but which always fascinated me. It made him seem subtly different than the man I was so familiar with, and that difference was thrilling.

Lancelot turned me to face him, hands gentle but implacable, and looked me up and down for a moment as if he didn’t know my body as well as he knew his own. Unexpectedly, it made me blush to be examined by that intense gaze when it wasn’t soften by the warmth and love that usually filled his eyes when we were alone. He smiled very slightly and raised his hands to stroke my hair and touch the back of my neck before cupping my face. “You’re beautiful - especially for someone who is fully human.”

I shuddered at those words, heart stuttering and desire swelling. “T-thank you,” I whispered, stammering a little.

Lancelot dropped his hands to may waist, leaned in, and breathed in my ear, “I want to hear that voice you used earlier.”

I was confused for a moment, then recalled, through my haze of desire, the way Lance had stiffened when I had spoken to Bromley and his wife in my semblance of a lower class accent. And Lance wanted to hear it now, in the bedroom, while he was busy reminding me that he was _part god_ ? It was...embarrassing almost, the idea of flaunting my low birth, of being _asked_ to do so for some else’s entertainment. But I had asked Lance to play a game with me, and he was, so I went along with, noting absently that, whatever the root of my discomfort, it hadn’t dampened my desire _at all_.

“Ye mean like this?” I asked, letting my annunciation go soft and feeling the words blend together on my tongue, the hard ‘k’ in “like” all but inaudible. It wasn’t _real_ mind you; it was a fabrication of what I might have sounded like at this age had I not moved to Camelot at the age of eight. But it also wasn’t hard to do. I didn’t have to devote much mental energy to maintaining the facade, so I was able to watch and fully appreciate the complex combination of expressions that crossed Lancelot’s face when he heard it. With our close physical proximity, I could easily tell what he was feeling - fascination, curiosity, a little embarrassment that he had asked, and a lot of uncertainty about whether or not he was doing this whole thing ‘right.’ But I also felt the moment when he picked up _my_ feelings on the matter and relaxed a little with the knowledge that I was enjoying this (and not judging him).

I shifted a little, curious to see what Lance would do next and liking the feel of his hands splayed on my waist, squeezing just a little .

What he did was lean down and brush his lips across mine very light. I  started to lean into it, but he stepped back, letting me go, and smiled, dragging his gaze over my body again. “Eager, aren’t you?”

“Y-yes.” I admitted, blushing, then, on a whim, added, “Sir.”

That word visibly knocked the breath out of him, but he recovered admirably. Something akin to a smirk turned up one corner of his mouth. “Take off your doublet and boots and sword belt and lay on bed.” His voice was pitched lower than usual and suffused with all the the confidence of someone who had grown up as royalty, knowing his instructions to someone of lower rank would be followed without question. Which turned out to be an entirely reasonable expectation in this case since I immediately began undoing by sword belt.

Lancelot went over to the hearth, asking over his shoulder in an carelessly disinterested tone, “Wine?”

“Oh. Yes. Please,” I replied quickly, and watched as he poured a goblet of mulled wine from a pitcher beside the low-burning fire. He brought it back just as I was pulling off my boots and offered it to me, making sure I had to touch his hand to take it. I sipped cautiously at the wine, then chuckled a little, surprising myself with how nervous I sounded, and said, “Innit some unswrit’n rule ‘bout not accep’ing food ‘n’ drink from the fae?

Lance grinned wolfishly. “Maybe that’s why I offered.” It should have sounded ridiculous, but, surrounded by the luxury of his chambers and caught by his frankly otherworldly eyes, it didn’t. Lancelot removed the goblet from my unresisting hands, paused a moment to take an unhurried drink himself, then set it aside on the nightstand before crowding closer to me. I found myself trapped between his body and the edge of the bed so I decided that now was an opportune time to comply with the rest of his earlier request (demand) and clambered up onto the mattress without turning around. It was blissfully soft and utterly luxurious, as I had observed to Lance previously, and as I laid back I took a moment to truly appreciate it, running my hands over the expensive blankets. Lancelot, meanwhile, stepped back a little and openly stared at me.

“What?” I asked, still keeping the lower class accent, “Somethin’ wrong?’

“Not at all,” he replied, beginning to undo his doublet, long, elegant fingers working at the laces, “Just admiring my prize.”

I squirmed a little at those words, my arousal becoming progressively more evident, and he smiled again. I watched the way the candlelight played over his face. The effect was an interesting one, deepening the lines around his eyes and mouth, while simultaneously smoothing away other slight imperfections and turning the silver in his hair to narrow rivers of gold running through the rest that was a black as the Morrigan’s. I shivered a little at that thought. Lancelot was a little frightening like this, eyes fairly glowing warm silver in the low light. _Utterly_ otherworldly. And I was reminded that this was not _entirely_ a fantasy. Lance wasn’t a fae lord, but he wasn’t that far removed.

Lance may have been somewhat shy of his body, but he certainly had no reason to be. He set aside his sword and stripped his fine doublet over his head in a single, smooth motion. Then he set about unlacing the silk shirt part way, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of skin beneath. I watched with increasing impatience as he bent to remove his boots.

“I kin help wi’ that,” I offered, aching to be near him, to get my hands on him. Added on a whim, “I want to touch you.” Lancelot glanced up at me from under his lashes, deliberately pulled off his second boot, and then without a word picked up his sword belt. My heart rate picked up and I twitched a little, but I got, if possible, even harder. Intimidating as he may have been, I trusted Lance completely.

I had observed while we were hunting earlier in the day that Lancelot moved like a predator. He did so again now as he came over to the bed. I swallowed hard, nervous in spite of myself, as Lance climbed onto the bed and straddled my thoughts (carefully avoiding putting pressure on the place I wanted it most).

“Give me your hands,” he commanded. I did without hesitation, although they were trembling slightly. “Color?” asked Lance abruptly, and it took me a few heartbeats to recall what that was supposed to mean.

“White.”

That was clearly all that he needed to hear because he took my wrists in his strong grip and looped the belt over them. I moaned, partly because I wanted to be able to touch him _dammit_ , and partly because _oh gods I wanted this._ The leather tightened around my wrists, firm but not painful. Given my training, I could probably get free if I put my mind to it, but I sure as hell didn’t want to. Lance was going along with all this better than I could ever have hoped, and I was excited to see what happened next.

Lancelot pressed my now-restrained hands to the pillow above my head, then proceeded to card his fingers through my hair, touch my face, run curious, exploring hands all over my still-clothed body. It was maddening - and one of the most erotic things I had ever experienced, in part because of the way Lance was acting as if he was learning my body. I shuddered all over at that thought. When Lancelot and I were first together, he had been recovering from a fairly serious injury. As a result of that and of Lance’s profound insecurities, not only had I been the dominant partner, but our first few sexual encounters were fairly atypical of a _first time_. There’d never been a moment early on when he laid me out like this and made love to me. By the time that had happened, we had already known each other’s bodies well. I’d never regretted that; but it made this moment all the more special. Lance was clearly enjoying it too, though I was already so far gone into my own pleasure that I lacked the focus to tell if he was enjoying it for the same reasons that I was. I just relaxed into the sensations and let myself drift in this perfect little fantasy, terribly vulnerable and utterly safe all at once.

*  *  *  *

I had been... _nervous_ about this idea of Gareth’s, not because I was in any way opposed to the fantasy (hell, it was flattering in a way), but because I was worried that I’d do it wrong thereby disappointing him and making a fool of myself. Both possibilities made my stomach churn unpleasantly. Gareth, however, was as persuasive as usual, and watching how he responded to my tentative attempt to play along was gratifying indeed, giving me the confidence to continue.

Binding Gareth’s hands with the belt was a spur of the moment decision, but the _idea_ had been fluttering distractingly around my head ever since he had mentioned an interest in being tied up.

Gareth squirmed deliciously between my thighs (and ye gods but just the way he’d been _looking_ at me all evening was enough to get me painfully hard) as I began to touch him. Now that I had settled into the idea of this little game, and seen how responsive Gareth was to it, I was quite enjoying myself, and had decided to indulge in the opportunity to explore his body and learn it and worship it as if this was the first time I was seeing it, and maybe the only time.

I slid my hands under his shirt and doublet, paying minute attention to how he reacted to various touches. He had lost some weight on our little escapades, but he’d already recovered most of it, and hard muscle moved beneath soft skin. I allowed my hands to wander higher and finally properly touched the scar from the arrow that nearly killed him. My fingers traced the mark, then, on a whim, I leaned down to kiss it, drawing a startled gasp from his mouth.

“You’re beautiful,” I murmured against his skin, pushing his shirt higher and mouthing my way up to his collarbone before sitting up again.

“You’re beautiful too…” he whispered, looking at me with big, wondering eyes. It was quite the ego boost, and I couldn’t deny that I rather liked it. Gareth was young and earnest and looked at me like I was a god. I bit back a moan at that thought, and leaned down kiss him deeply, like I was laying claim to him. Gareth _whined_ into my mouth, writhing under me, his legs coming up to circle my waist and pull me closer since his arms couldn’t.

We stayed like that for a while, kissing, and I left a dark bruise on his collarbone just because I could. Then I sat back, unwrapping his legs from around my waist, and set about undressing him as best I could with his hands still bound. He squirmed so much that he almost kicked me.  My first instinct was to laugh, or threaten to spank him. But Gareth would only take that as an invitation to continue, and it seemed a bit out of character with the person I was being tonight. So instead I fixed stern look on my face and warned, “Lie still.” Gareth pouted up at me rebelliously but quieted and allowed me to get his breeches the rest of the way off, leaving him naked from the waist down and dressed only in his shirt. I smirked and slid off the bed to finish undressing myself. Gareth watched avidly and I forced down my instinctive shyness, instead making a bit of a show of it. I would never be good at undressing seductively like some people cours, but I made sure Gareth could see well what I was doing, could watch the firelight play off my body as I discarded my shirt and stepped slowly out of my own breeches.

Gareth stared, lips slightly parted, as I climbed back onto the bed and crawled over his body, kissing and nipping gently as I did so until I reached his mouth and kissed him like I was trying to take all the air from his lungs. He moaned and thrashed a little, growing ever more frustrated that he couldn’t _touch_ and _hold_ the way he wanted to.

The kissing was good, but I was getting impatient, so I sat up and flipped Gareth over onto his stomach. I could _feel_ the desire flash hot through him; he liked the show of strength, the feeling of being suddenly even more at my mercy. He wiggled around a little to get comfortable and I let him, pausing briefly to check that the belt wasn’t too tight and that his hands were in a position that wouldn’t hurt his shoulders. Then I picked up our little pot of oil off of the nightstand and slicked my fingers with it.

Gareth always enjoyed this part, but tonight he was so loudly enthusiastic that I was tempted to threaten to gag him. But this wing of the villa was essentially deserted; and besides, everyone was drunk tonight. So instead I took my time, being even more thorough than usual, teasing him with my fingers until he was whimpering and kicking again.

“Come _on_ hurry up already,” he whined, his usual accent reappearing. He was too far gone to maintain the other, I guessed.

Having been convinced to participate in his little fantasy, however, I was going to play it out to the end. I brought my hand down on his ass - just once, but very hard. It startled a proper yelp out of him, and I leaned down and growled in his ear, “Behave. I’ll fuck you when I’m good and ready.”

The sound Gareth made was somewhere between a whimper and a moan and went straight to my already painfully hard cock. In truth, I did not want to draw this out much longer. But just to make my point, I pressed my fingers back inside of him and held them still for a count of sixty, watching the muscles in his back and legs tense and shiver as he fought to stay still. Finally, I took pity on him and withdrew my fingers. I held his hips firmly - probably hard enough to leave bruises - and pressed inside in a quick, smooth motion. Gareth canted his hips up to give me a better angle and I set about doing as I had promised and fucking him.  

After all the foreplay and anticipation (which really had started bexpressing dinner if I was being honest) neither of us lasted long. Had I been with someone else, I might have been embarrassed by how quickly I came, but not with Gareth. I slumped over his back, trying not to put all my weight on him, and reached around to wrap a hand around his cock. It only took two quick strokes before he came as well, shuddering and nearly sobbing in my arms.

I pulled myself together enough to reach up and undo the belt from around his wrists, then gathered him carefully into my arms, stroking his hair and rocking him gently. We were both utterly spent - emotionally and otherwise - but it felt  _good_. I could sense along our bond that Gareth was still drifting in a happy, blissed out place, and I was rather proud of having taken him there. I was beginning to understand that it was one of the things he liked about sex like this, the way it made everything else just go away for a time. I had felt it the evening that he had blindfolded me and made love to me, and I could certainly see the attraction, even if I did prefer to be the one in control rather than the one letting go.

We lay there, catching our breath and slowly coming back to ourselves, and I hazily spared a thought to the fact that I had probably had more sex in the last week than in the proceeding six months. I certainly wasn’t complaining.

Eventually, the night air and drying sweat on our bodies became uncomfortably cool, and I sat up to re-arrange both of us and pull a clean blanket over us. Gareth crawled right back into my arms and mumbled something against my shoulder. “What was that, love?” I asked softly.

“I said, ‘that was fucking amazing,’” replied Gareth in a tone that sounded, of all things, mildly amused. “Holy fuck.”

I found myself chuckling, then actually laughing. “Yes,” I agreed, “It really was.”

We stayed that way for a moment, grinning at each other, light hearted and buoyant, then Gareth wrinkled his nose adorably and said, “I think I need a bath.”

“Now?” It was after midnight.

“Any reason why we shouldn’t have one?”

I considered that for a split second, then laughed again. “None at all.”

*  *  *  *

We dragged ourselves out of bed, redressed haphazardly in clean breeches and shirts, and padded barefoot down the hall to the baths. I reached out and took Lance’s hand as we walked, startling him so badly he almost stumbled. But then he glanced shyly over and smiled at me sweetly. I liked this version of Lancelot that I had seen more and more in the last few days, but especially today - relaxed and fun, a man who had an identity beyond his job as King’s Champion. I knew Lance, though, and I knew that soon enough the novelty of being home would begin to wear off and he would want to go back to Camelot. In truth, I would probably start to feel the same after another week or so, and we had at least that.

I sighed, blissfully happy as we sank into the hot water. Lance washed my body gently, and our exertions caught up with me all at once, leaving me too sleepy to properly return the favor. When I tried to apologize, however, Lance just hushed me gently. Even without him touching me I could feel his emotions clearly now, and I smiled a little as I discerned what he was feeling now: protectiveness of me, but also a sort of awe that I was too tired to get to the root of just then. His love wrapped around me, fierce and warm, and I sighed happily. Life was really exceptionally good. I told Lance so, and thanked him rather belatedly for going along with my crazy little fantasy. He chuckled at that.

“I’d say it worked out rather well, wouldn’t you?” he said, tousling my hair gently. I smirked my agreement, immensely self satisfied.

Eventually, we staggered back to bed and collapsed beneath the warm wool blanket. Lancelot arranged me gently so that I was lying on my side with him behind me, wrapped around my body and holding me close. There was no place in the world I could possibly have felt safer, and within moments I was sound asleep.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come say 'hi' on [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/gwyndulac) (I'm GwynDuLac there too).


	10. A Knight's Work

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lancelot discovers that all is not well on his lands - courtesy of none other than Claudus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh god, I'm so sorry that it took me so long to get this posted. My laptop broke, I had scholarship applications and a job application due, and then I was packing for travel, and...yeah you get the idea. Circumstances conspired against me. Therefore, this chapter is slightly shorter than some of the others. I'm actually quite happy with it though.
> 
> I owe a second apology for possible formatting issues. I finished this and posted it from mobile while on a train, so I make no promises on the format/editing front. I figured it was better to get it up now rather than wait until I have access to my laptop again in a few days. 
> 
> ANd finally, sorry for the shitty chapter title. Consider it a working title. I just wanted To get this posted. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Being interrupted while sparring was turning into a bit of an unfortunate pattern, I mused as I followed Lancelot and Elaine out of the salle. It was no surprise that the people who lived here wanted to raise issues with their Lord on one of the rare occasions that he was home. I was, however, somewhat taken aback that anyone had roused themselves early enough to turn up well before noon the day after last night’s revelry. Lancelot could, of course, have made them wait until we were finished, but he was too thoughtful for that.

  
We went back to his suite briefly to change into more appropriate clothes, and Lance cast me a sideways glance. “You don’t have to wait around while I do this, you know,” he said quietly, “You’re welcome to spend the day however you like. Take Xiphos out-”

  
I interrupted him. “I want to spend it with you, even if that means just standing around and listening.” I paused, then added with a slight smirk, “Besides, whether you realize it or not, you’ve been having me playing Champion all week. No reason to stop now.” The vaguely guilty look on Lance’s face told me that he had been hoping that I wouldn't notice. I laughed a little. “I don’t mind. It’s rather charming actually. Does make me wonder, though, if I’m not the only one around here taking advantage of an opportunity to play out a few little fantasies…” He blushed and I grinned, giving him a quick kiss on the check.

  
By all rights, standing behind Lance’s chair while he listened to a string of fairly minor complaints should have been boring, but it wasn’t. For one thing, I understood that, although none of these problems had national implications the way they might have in Camelot, to these people they were big problems - otherwise they would have raised them with Elaine or sorted them out themselves. (Well, that was true in most cases. There were clearly a few individuals who just didn’t want to take direction from a woman.) Elaine was present, however, occasionally offering insight and context. It was clear though that she had already discussed many of these issues with Lance, since he listened and spoke like someone with plenty of background on each case. To me, that spoke volumes about both Lancelot and Elaine - she knew these people well enough to follow the simmering troubles and anticipate who would come petition Lancelot; and Lancelot cared enough to devote his time and attention to them.

  
In spite of this, I could easily sense his intense discomfort; Lancelot really did not like being the person in charge, and properly hated being the center of attention. His shoulders were painfully tense, and his breathing just a little to steady to be naturally. He much rather would have been in my place. No wonder he rarely went home to Gaul! I thought with a start. If Lance hated what being a rural lord entailed, how did he ever cope with being a king?

  
I turned that idea over in my head for a while I watched Lancelot. He was good at this, handling things very much as I thought Arthur would have. I supposed that Lancelot had likely been influenced by the countless hours he had spent over the years watching the King hear petitioners. So I tuned out the flow of words and let my mind wander back to the concept of me as his Champion.

  
Lance was again dressed in his house colors, rather than in black, but I had opted for my usual all grey ensemble with a black quilted doublet over it. It was easy enough to imagine myself standing behind a throne, being for Lancelot what Lance was for Arthur. It wasn’t a bad sensation at all and I felt myself standing a little straighter. It was just another fantasy though, at least for the time being. I wondered, though, if it was one Lance would want to play out later, or something he was content to let stay in his own mind. I wasn’t sure what form that would take played out in real life, but I decided that standing in front of a room full of people was probably not a good time to think about it.

It was mid-afternoon by the time Lancelot had heard all of the petitioners. The last family filed out, content with assurances that the two goats they had lost in a spring flood would be replaced. That had been one of the easier cases; more challenging ones had involved a major dispute over the purchase of a cart in which one party claimed to have been cheated, and a feud over a prime bit of farmland. Just because Lancelot saw to it that these people were reasonably well cared for did not mean their lives were easy, and it most certainly did not prevent either conflict or natural disaster. In fact, there were some striking parallels to the kinds of issues brought before the King - the scale was different, but the patterns were familiar. The real reason that it took several hours to hear all the disputes was that Lancelot was very thorough. For all that he clearly hated the job, he took it seriously and did not let his personal discomfort impede his questioning or decision-making.  
By the time it was finally over, I could easily sense Lancelot’s mental and emotional exhaustion, coupled with the sort of physical restlessness that came from sitting still for too long. With everyone but Elaine gone, Lance stood stiffly and sighed. I moved around to stand beside him, wincing a little myself after being on my feet for so long. The only good news was that we had taken a break for lunch, so we weren’t hungry. I did have something on my mind though.

  
“I want a bath,” I groaned, stretching.

  
Lance offered me a tired but genuine smile. “That sounds rather lovely.” We both ignored Elaine’s entirely audible giggle and beat a hasty retreat toward the bathing room.

  
I caught Lance’s hand as he closed and locked the door, pulling him down into a kiss. “You were brilliant today,” I murmured against his lips.

  
“Well...I don’t know about that…” he protested weakly.

  
“Well I do.”

  
“I really don’t-”

  
“Shut up,” I said with a suppressed laugh, “Just shut up and let me kiss you.”

  
Lance acquiesced, letting me back him up against the wall. He moaned into my mouth and, to my surprise, made no effort whatsoever to assert control. I smiled a little, a thrill going through me. I could work with this.

  
* * * *

  
Gareth fisted his hands in my doublet and pressed me back against the hard, cold wall, kissing me thoroughly as he did so. My knees went weak and, simultaneously, some of the day’s stress began to lift away. I hadn’t fully realized until that moment just how much I didn’t want to be in control - and Gareth, bless him and bless the emotional bond between us, was able to tell. I felt his amusement, but also his pleasure at the idea. And then he stepped back and looked me up and down pointedly.  
“Get undressed.” That tone of voice brooked no argument, and sent a shiver down my spine. I fumbled with the clasps on my doublet, fingers suddenly having lost all dexterity. Gareth didn’t offer to help, merely stood back and watched, smirking as I cast aside shirt, boots, and, lastly, breeches. I felt myself blush hotly under his gaze, partly because he was looking at me so intently (and proprietarily), and partly because he was still fully dressed.

  
“Do you, umm...want help with…” I gestured vaguely at his clothing, “...that?”

  
Gareth’s lips twitched with amusement, but he replied sternly, “No. I want you to get in the bath and get clean.”

  
I was disappointed that I didn’t get to touch him (yet), but I did as I was bid, climbing into the steaming water and reaching for the soap. The heat felt bloody good, though, and I paused to simply sink up to my neck and enjoy the sensation. I was only allowed to do so for a few moments, however, before I felt a firm grip on the back of my neck and on my upper arm. Gareth’s lips brushed my ear as he leaned down and murmured, “I thought I told you to get clean, not laze about.” No one else would have dared talk to me like that - but then, no one else would have been able to sneak up on me either. And while the situation should have set my battle-honed self-preservation instincts jangling, instead it made me hard. Ye gods, the things Gareth could do to me...I thought as he hauled me none-too-gently to my feet and guided me over to the edge of the pool. “Put your hands on the side and bend over,” he instructed, freeing my arm but increasing the pressure on the back of my neck. I placed my hands on the cool mosaic and leaned forward, heart rate speeding up and stomach turning over not unpleasantly. I knew what Gareth had in mind; I’d done the same thing to him a few days ago, and, in spite of the hot water, I felt goose-bumps break out all over my body. “Stay there. Don’t move,” Gareth told me, then disappeared from my side for several agonizing moments. I held perfectly still in spite of the vulnerable position I was in, not wanting to do anything wrong. After hours of mental labor ensuring that I handled as well as possible the complicated business of people’s lives, it was an immense relief to be able to follow a simple, clear instruction. The tension began to drain out of my muscles and my breathing slowed and deepened.

  
Gareth reappeared, altering me to his presence by setting one of the jars of scented oil down near my hand. Then (finally) he began touching me, running his hands down my back, over my buttocks, down my legs, then around, fingers dragging teasingly up the fronts of my thighs, up my stomach to my chest so that Gareth was embracing me from behind, leaning over me so I could feel every inch of where our skin touched. Then he began kissing down the curve of my spine, leisurely and unhurried. I burned with desire for him, but he had told me to hold still, so I gripped the edge of the pool more tightly. “Do you want me to fuck you, Lance?” asked Gareth suddenly, voice low and rough and mouth still pressed against my back, just below my lowest ribs, a place he knew I was especially sensitive. And I knew it wasn’t really a question, but I answered it anyway, struggling a little form the words through the haze of want and the heat of embarrassment.

  
“Y-yes.”

  
“Mm. Try again.”

  
“Yes p-please?”

  
He didn’t respond, just continued mouthing along my ribs, fingers stroking teasingly at the crease of my thigh.

  
I tried again. “Please, Gareth. Please-” I stopped, licked my lips, and choked out, “Please fuck me.”

  
That was what Gareth had wanted to hear, apparently, because he reached over and picked up the jar of oil, coating his fingers liberally. He drew them down my back slowly before slipping them between my cheeks, still teasing. I whined and shifted and was rewarded by sudden pressure as, with no further warning, he pressed his fingers inside of me. I slumped forward,unable to hold myself up under the onslaught of sensation, and rested my head against my forearms. Distantly, I thought I heard Gareth chuckle.

  
He wasn’t particularly gentle or thorough, though he was careful enough not to actually hurt me. It was abundantly clear that this wasn’t supposed to be about me, it was all about his pleasure. And I loved it. I drowned in the sensation of his bruising grip on my hips, the burn and stretch of him inside of me, and his teeth occasionally grazing my skin. He took his pleasure and I let him, the world and all my stress falling away wonderfully while I focused on simply keeping myself upright and feeling, enjoying the exquisite blurring of the boundaries between my pleasure and Gareth’s.

  
I was nearly caught off guard by own orgasm, though whether because it was sudden or because I had been so focused on Gareth it was hard to say - not that I cared much, or was doing much thinking. Gareth carefully helped me to sit down, holding me close still and making sure that I kept my head above water in my dazed state.

  
“Feel better?” he murmured in my ear, stroking my sweat-damp hair back off my face tenderly.

  
I leaned into the circle of his arms and nodded sleepily. “Amazing,” I mumbled.

  
We sat like that for long moments in comfortable silence before I managed to collect myself enough sit up a bit. “Really, Gareth, that was…”

  
“You’re welcome,” he said simply as I cast about for words I wasn’t sure I would find.

  
We washed each other then, gentle and loving, pausing frequently for kisses and little murmured endearments, then changed soft clothes and made our way to my chambers where we sprawled in a tangle of limbs on the couch. I was just nodded off into a content post-coital nap with the door suddenly banged open.

  
Gareth and I both sat up sharply, Gareth cursing under his breath and casting about for a weapon. I thought a few choice vulgar words of my own, but was too sleepy and sated to give voice to them. I did manage a slightly disgruntled, “What the fuck?”

  
“Up, both of you,” said Elaine in her most commanding tone, “Put on some decent clothes for God’s sake, there’s someone here to see you.”

  
“Didn’t Lance deal with all the petitioners earlier?” grumbled Gareth, flopping back down on to the couch dramatically. I could sense his genuine frustration that all the work he had done to help me relax was about to go to waste.

  
Elaine rolled her eyes at my lover’s dramatics. “Not quite. And believe me, you’re going to want to talk to these two. Remember how I mentioned before that a young couple had eloped against their parents wishes? Well they didn’t want to come when everyone else was here, and if I’m any judge they have a very serious issue to raise. I’ve never seen either of these two look so disturbed, and they’re really quite the level-headed pair. Come on! Up! I’ve told them you’ll have supper with them in the hall.”

  
Now it was my turn to groan. But I reminded myself that Elaine, for all her blasé attitude, would not have disturbed us without good reason, and got slowly to my feet. “Right, right, give us a few minutes to dress and we’ll be out…”

  
I forewent the outfit from earlier, dressing instead in my favored black leather and red cloak, as if I was back at Camelot, and I noticed that Gareth chose his own soft grey and black ensemble. I paused in front of a polished silver mirror and ran my fingers through my hair, trying to comb it into some semblance of order. Gareth took pity on me and appeared with a brush, batting my hands out of the way. Gareth had never brushed my hair before, but I decided then and there that he would be doing it again. He tamed my hair with a few strokes and tied it back neatly with a black leather thong he produced from somewhere. It revealed the silver at my temples, but I forced myself not to care.

  
“Shall we go?” asked Gareth, nodding toward the door. His hair was already neatly brushed and gleaming red-gold in the afternoon light. I quashed my disappointment at losing the opportunity to stall further and get my hands on him again, but supposed it was probably for the best. After all, we had guests waiting.

  
Our visitors turned out to be a very young couple who looked so nervous that some of my annoyance melted away. They were already sitting at the table, the hall having been returned to its usual state after last night’s festivities, and stood quickly when Gareth and I appeared, clumsy in their haste. “It's alright, I assured them. Sit.” They did, still looking profoundly uneasy as they glanced back and forth between Gareth and I.

  
Gareth just smiled warmly, taking a seat across from the young woman. “We don't bite, I promise. Even if Lance looks like he does,” joked Gareth, drawing cautious chuckles from both of them. I took that as my cue to sit as well, and at the same moment Cook appeared with a tray of mulled wine.

  
“I’ll have supper out in a bit,” she assured us, then glanced at our visitors and said firmly, “John, you tell them what to trouble is. All of it, you hear me?” before bustling off again.

  
I raised one eyebrow at the lad. “You know Cook?”

  
“Bit. Her sister married my uncle. As she said, my name’s John. An this is my wife, Sarah.”

  
“Pleasure to meet you,” said Gareth.

  
“So,” I began, “What brings you here that couldn't have been raised earlier in the day when everyone else came?”  
The two shared an uncomfortable glance, then Sarah said slowly, “We know we should have come earlier. It's just that our families didn't want us to marry, and we didn't want them to know that there was anything wrong. It's our cottage, see. Or really it's the land where the cottage is. Lord Claudus seems to think it belongs to him.”

  
I had to resist the urge to make a face at Claudus’ name, but I didn't repress the urge to grumble, “Might have known he'd be causing trouble.”

  
“What has Claudus been doing, exactly?” prompted Gareth, leaning forward companionably, elbows on the table and chin resting in his hands. The causal posture was belied, however, by the intent expression on his face.

  
The two young people glanced at each other again, and this time it was John who spoke. “Well, we can't be sure ‘'tis his fault, but… Some’un rode a horse through our field the week we planted it. Then again a week later after I fixed the damage. An’ our goats have been disappearing, one by one. I've checked the fence a dozen times. They couldn't have gotten out on their own. Ain't got any left now, though…”

  
“Aye, the last one disappeared ‘bout a week ago. Few days ago, Lord Claudus stopped by again, told us we obviously didn't know what we were doing and wouldn't it be easier to just ‘give him back his land?’”

  
“Without the goats we don’t have milk,” lamented Sarah, “But at least we still have eggs. Yesterday when we woke up our rooster was dead - beheaded and left on our doorstep. They whoever did it didn’t touch the hens, thank God.”

  
I sensed Gareth’s dark amusement at that. It was unlikely that Claudus or his sons were smart enough to realize that the hens were more valuable than the rooster, which certainly was a mark in favor of them being behind all of this rather than anyone else. I swallowed down the urge to growl, but my dark mood must have showed in my face because they both sat back a little and shared an uneasy glance.

  
“He’s not mad at you,” said Gareth soothingly, “He’s mad at Claudus. We had a run in with the man recently ourselves, but destroying your food source in an effort to intimidate you off of land that is rightfully yours? Well…”

  
“That's a bridge too far,” I said firmly, “Bad enough that he's stolen from you, he's also trying to take land from me. Yes, I've given it to you to farm, but as far as people like Claudus are concerned all the land is the lord’s. And Claudus emphatically doesn't like me. I'm sorry you've been subjected to this, but we’ll put a stop to it, I promise. And until we do, you’ll stay here. And I’ll see to it that your livestock is replaced.”

  
Their relief was palpable, but beside me I could feel Gareth practically trembling with fury. He hated Claudus perhaps more for his treatment of these peasants than for his treatment of us.

  
The four of us continued to talk, John and Sarah slowly divulging more and more details of the harassment they had suffered, including to threatening visits by Claudus’ sons who had openly damaged their property, kicking down fences and treading on Sarah’s herb garden before threatening to do worse. Both were utterly certain that Claudus or his sons would be back soon to make good on those threats. Their fear of this eventuality was palpable, and I decided then and there that I was going to put a stop to this as soon as possible, and preferably in a manner that would permanently discourage such antics from Claudus in the future.

  
The only real question remaining was why my good for nothing neighbor had targeted these two specifically. When I asked, they shared a significant look. “Well,” began Sarah slowly, “We live in the old miller’s cottage. It’s been empty since old Joseph died years ago, but we liked the idea of being near the river, and John here has been fixing up the mill itself. We think we may be able to start using it again next year. It will take some more work, but…”

  
I sighed and nodded, understanding now why Claudus wanted that particular bit of land. There were few mills in this area, and having a functional one on his property would have been a good source of income. I hadn’t bothered to have the mill repaired because the cottage was so far removed from everyone else that no one had expressed interest in living there, and because the other village had a functional mill; it wasn’t strictly necessary to have both, just much more convenient.

  
“Well,” I said, “That is commendable. I promise you, we’ll put a stop to this nonsense from Claudus. And after we do, I’ll see to it you have help to fix the mill.”

  
They both brightened considerably at that, looking both pleased and very surprised. I felt a pulse of warm pride and love from Gareth and had to fight back a blush.

  
* * * *

  
Elaine, Galahad, and a few others joined us for an early supper, John and Sarah both visibly flustered at being asked to stay and dine with us. Afterward, however, they became nervous again, and I suspected I knew why. It seemed that Lance did too, for he said, “You both are welcome to stay here until we have sorted out this...misunderstanding with Claudus. In fact, I would prefer that you do.” Now he glanced at me. “If Gareth has no objections, he and I will go wait for Claudus or his sons to put in an appearance and explain to them that continuing to harass you would be…”

  
“Bad for their health?” I offered innocently, knowing that, for all Lance’s understatement in that previous sentence, he was furious, and probably had every intention of scaring the living daylights out of the person behind this nonsense. I grinned. “Sounds like a very nice way to spend a day or two.” And it genuinely did sound good to me, much to Lance’s amusement. I just thought it would be nice to have a little time just the two of us, and I had always enjoyed traveling and camping with Lance.

  
Sarah and John both protested that that wasn’t necessary, but Lance was having none of it. He wanted to put a stop to this once and for all, and we both knew that having a polite little chat with Claudus in his hall wasn’t going to achieve that.  
“Let’s go tonight,” I suggested on a whim.

  
Lance gave me a vaguely startled look, then shrugged. “Alright.”

  
We left Sarah and John in Elaine’s capable hands, quickly packed our saddle bags, and grabbed our bedrolls. We may not have been planning on camping, but we were always prepared. Lance located a tent that was kept in the stables, and we set out at a brisk pace on the war horses. Xiphos frolicked a little when I gave him some free reign, while Equinox tried to rub Lance off of the first half dozen large trees we encountered.

  
The old mill was a fair distance from the smaller of the two villages, but we made good time on horseback and arrived before the sun had fully set. Lance tethered the horses out of sight of the path and gave them some oats while I scoped out the little cottage and the run down mill. “We’ll be most comfortable in the tent, I think,” I told Lance.

  
He glanced up at the darkening sky, then asked, “D’you think we need it?”

  
I considered. It was a clear night and I had no reason to believe that rain was approaching. So I shrugged. “Probably not.” We stood quietly for a moment, then I chuckled and added, “Sure, let’s sleep under the stars. But maybe back a ways here in the tree line so if anyone comes we can surprise them.” Neither Lance nor I slept heavily enough to miss a disturbance such as Sarah and John had described.

  
We laid out our bedrolls so that we could share them, and Lance folded up his cloak for a pillow. I stretched out on my back and sighed softly. “This is nice.”

  
“I’m glad you don’t mind that I suggested it,” murmured Lance, joining me on the bedroll, “This is a lot less glamorous than the villa that made you feel like you’d been swept away by a fae lord.”

  
I giggled and turned on my side so I could put my head on Lance’s shoulder and snuggle up against his firm, warm body. “Less glamorous, perhaps, but more us. I like this too, just for different reasons. And it’s nice to have you all to myself.”  
What I didn’t add aloud was how right this felt. I had certainly been enjoying the villa, and the fantasies we had been playing out as part of our increasingly amazing sex life, but being out of doors on a mission to protect someone (even if it was just one couple and their cottage) felt natural, like putting on an old pair of gloves or picking up a sword you had used for years - comfortable and familiar. Lance wrapped one arm firmly around me and hummed his agreement with this sentiment.

  
We lay in silence for a few minutes, enjoying the calm and the nighttime noises of the woods. It was warm enough that we were quite comfortable, especially sharing body heat as we were. I breathed in Lance’s scent and relaxed a little further, then mumbled into his doublet, “Would you...sing to me?”

  
Lance didn’t sing often, but I always loved it when he did. I felt him smile and his arm tightened a little more around my ribs. “Of course,” he said, and sang me to sleep under the stars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come say 'hi' on [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/gwyndulac) (I'm GwynDuLac there too). 
> 
> Comments and kudos fuel writing : )


	11. A Bit of Fun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lancelot and Gareth do a bit of work, and have rather a lot of fun - not necessarily in that order.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was written in little bits and pieces while I was on a family vacation. I was hoping to finish it earlier in the week but, well, Life Happened. It's also a bit shorter than usual; I have the next few scenes planned which I thought about including here, but this chapter ends on a very natural break so I let it be. 
> 
> I really enjoyed writing this chapter and showing that Lance does in fact have a less serious side (at least when he is with Gareth). In fact, my sort-of-beta reader was delayed in reading it because she said she had to be somewhere that she could "squeal effectively", so hopefully that's a good sign?
> 
> Enjoy! : )

The night was free of disturbances, and Lancelot and I woke when the sun rose high enough to filter through the trees above us. I was chill and a little damp, but quite content, still nestled in Lance’s embrace. “Good morning,” I mumbled into his shoulder. 

“Good morning,” replied Lance, “Shall we got up and make breakfast?”

“I want to stay here.”

“That’s because you’re sleeping on me and not on the ground!” laughed my lover. 

Feeling somewhat guilty, I sat up. “Right. Sorry about that.”

Lance reached out and caught my hand. “I didn’t mean it like that. Come back here for a minute.”

I smiled and laid back down, nuzzling into Lance’s neck. “See, isn’t this nice?”

“Yes, it is,” he agreed, hands sliding down my back seductively. 

I chuckled and shifted around so we could kiss leisurely. “Mmm,” I hummed against his lips, “This is  _ lovely _ .”

Lance agreed not with words but with a pulse of emotion along our bond - warmth and love, and a pleased sort of mild amusement at the fact that I so much enjoyed sleeping outside like this. I found the notion romantic, and Lance had apparently just decided that he liked that about me. I laughed and kissed him harder. 

After a while, however, we both agreed that we needed breakfast, so we got up, stowed our bedding, and set about making a fire. I fried bacon and warmed up bread that Cook had very kindly packed for us, and Lance and I sat in the warmth of the fire and ate. But what Lance had said early about sleeping on the ground was eating at me. “Lance…” I said slowly, “Was sleeping out here last night alright? I mean-” 

He cut me off before I could go on. “Actually, yes.” He was vaguely surprised and extremely pleased about this - as was I. He went on, “I...I’ve noticed that since...Well, since our bond has gone both ways, I’ve noticed that I’ve been feeling a lot better. At first I thought it was just that I was feeling better  _ in comparison  _ to how awful I had felt after you were shot. But...the last few days I’ve felt really good, and the thing is that I’m  _ not  _ sore and stiff after sleeping on the ground last night and I  _ should  _ be.”

I thought that through, then asked carefully, “What exactly do you think changed?”

“The bond?” he suggested uncertainly. “I’m not sure how that could be, but it’s the only thing that has changed. You haven't been feeling  _ worse  _ have you?” He added this last urgently, looking deeply concerned.

I shook my head. “I’ve not noticed anything. You…” I paused, not sure if I should ask, then went on, “Do you think it’s just that we’ve been sleeping and resting more here?”

Lance was quiet for a long time, thinking and eating his breakfast methodically, then shook his head. “I noticed it first when we went riding with Galahad. I should have been sore afterward, but I wasn’t. My joints haven’t been stiff.” It hurt him to say that because it was an implicit admission that they  _ had  _ hurt before - but he was willing to tell  _ me,   _ which was touching. “Things like that wouldn’t be affected by more sleep, I think. And,” he added, blushing a little, “We haven’t  _ actually _ been  _ resting  _ that much.”

I couldn’t help but giggle, but then I sobered. “Well, regardless of the cause, I’m glad that you’re feeling really well. And if it  _ is  _ the bond then so much the better.” 

“Just... _ promise  _ me that you’ll tell me if you’re feeling poorly?” 

“I promise,” I assured him, then grinned and leaned back, stretching out on the ground, “So what shall we do with the rest of our day?”

“I...would you be terribly disappointed if I said I wanted to take a closer look at the mill? I want to have a sense of how much work it will take to fix it up.”

“You really intend to help Sarah and John do it?” 

“Of course. I’ll have Elaine set aside some money to help them with it. It will benefit everyone to have it fixed, and after all this they deserve bit of help.” 

“It will make you more money?” I enquired. These were the sorts of things I still didn’t fully understand. 

“It will make Sarah and John money, which will bring in more taxes, and it will be more efficient to have two mills which means I could I suppose collect more taxes on the amount of flour. But that isn’t the point. I’m not like Claudus or the lord where you were born, Gareth. I’m not doing this for my own benefit.” 

“Lance, I know you’re nothing like them. That’s...that’s not what...I didn’t mean to imply that…” I felt terrible that he had mistaken my curiosity for an assumption that he would take advantage of his position. But he just smiled at me gently. 

“It’s alright, Gareth. I didn’t really think that you were suggesting...any similarity there.” 

We were both quiet for a moment, then Lance stood and stretched. “Come on, up yo get. And don’t look at me like a kicked puppy - I’m not upset at all.” Our bond informed me that that was indeed true. It had just been a mild misunderstanding due to phrasing; Lance hadn’t meant anything by what he had said and neither had I. I took his hand and got to my feet. 

“Right then, let’s go look at this mill.”

*  *  *  *

I didn’t let go of Gareth’s hand for most of the next hour as we looked over the mill building and equipment. It was nice to feel his warm skin against mine, our bond humming happily. But mostly it was just nice to be able to engage in such casual contact without fear of being judged. 

“So…” said Gareth as we finished up our inspection, “What shall we do with the rest of the day?”

“I was thinking we should spar. We really haven't done enough of that while we've been here.”

He gave me a Look that suggested that that wasn't the point of a vacation, but he agreed that sparring sounded nice. “We didn't bring any practice equipment,” Gareth observed. 

“Afraid I'm going to hurt you if we spar with live steel?” I teased. 

Gareth laughed and punched my arm with his free hand. “Hardly! I'll remind you that I kicked your ass the first time we sparred this week!” 

“You did not!” I protested, “You caught me off guard in order to make a point!”

Gareth shrugged his agreement, then said, “Actually, I was thinking hand to hand might be fun for a change.”

I blew out a slow breath at that, thinking that we were actually more likely to hurt each other doing that than using swords. But we  _ could _ both use the practice, and it would be less likely to give away our presence than steel swords. The deciding factor, however, was the big-eyed, hopeful look that Gareth was giving me. It was deceptively innocent and routinely cut through any objection I might have to a suggestion from him. I was fairly sure he knew that and shamelessly used it to his advantage. “Alright, alright,” I conceded,  “Let’s do that then.” Gareth bounced a little with excitement and I couldn’t help but shake my head and laugh.

We found a mossy place near where we had camped for the night and not far from the cottage. It had been quite a long time since Gareth and I had sparred like this, and we started off slowly, working through the kind of drills we would put squires through to teach them. It was a useful exercise and, given the sunny forest and pleasant company, a rather enjoyable way to spend the rest of the morning. 

We paused at noon for a light lunch, and when we resumed Gareth grinned at me wickedly. “What do you say to some proper sparring?” 

“I say we’d best be careful not to hurt each other.” Gareth pouted and I clarified, “That doesn't mean ‘no’.” He brightened visibly and I mentally shook my head at myself. 

In spite of his eagerness, Gareth had enough restraint to start off relatively slowly. It  _ was  _ fun to do this with him - intimate, almost - and the level of trust it required was certainly something special. We bantered and teased our way through a few causal bouts, then, with no warning, Gareth picked up the pace of his attacks and I narrowly blocked a blow to my ribs. So that was how it was going to be then. 

I had the advantage of size and experience, while Gareth was younger and more daring. Nonetheless, I felt so much better than I was used to feeling that I was confident I could prevail. Gareth tried to trip me and I avoided it easily, grabbing one of his arms and pulling him off balance. He twisted around to keep his feet, and we grappled for a long moment. Gareth’s elbow caught me below the ribs, partially winding me, and, although I was absolutely loathe to hurt him in any way, I retaliated in kind, elbowing him hard and simultaneously kicking one of his feet out from under him. We went down in a heap. 

Wrestling was far more my forte than Gareth’s, and I soon had him pinned beneath me - though not before we had both acquired a few more interesting bruises in the process. My lover grinned at me, panting a little from exertion. I was out of breath as well, but found myself smiling back. 

“Bit reminiscent of our first night together, wouldn’t you say?” asked Gareth, warm affection and humor surging along our bond. 

I huffed out a laugh, but agreed. I had him pinned with his hands beside his head, my body resting on his. “It ended rather well for us that night,” I observed. 

Gareth positively  _ giggled _ . “Yes. It did. Eventually.” 

I stuck my tongue out at him in a gesture so childish and silly it surprised me as well as Gareth. We stared at each other for a moment, then both began to laugh. I rolled off of my lover and we lay beside each other on the mossy ground and just laughed and laughed. It felt brilliant. 

“Oh, gods,” gasped Gareth, still chuckling, “Gods,  _ no one  _ would believe me if I told them that you did that.”

I elbowed him in the arm. “Don’t even think about it.”

“And ruin your reputation? Never.”

We stayed like that for a few moment,s catching our breath, then Gareth rolled over on top of me and kissed me hard. My body was still singing from our sparring match and shared laughter, so I grabbed him and kissed him back, hooking my leg around the back of his and flipping us over. We grappled for dominance, like an extension of our sparring, but now with teeth and tongues and passion included. Gareth gained the upper hand briefly, before moaning against my lips and ceding control. 

“Ah, gods that feels good,” he whimpered when we broke apart for air. 

“We are not having sex in the middle of the forest,” I admonished him.

“Bet I can make you change your mind about that,” he replied with a smirk that made me fairly confident that he was correct. 

*  *  *  *

I kissed Lance again but with  _ intent  _ this time, twining my fingers in his hair and kissing like I was drowning and he was air. He moaned and pressed me harder against the ground.  I had acquired a few mild bruises over the course of the day, which was inevitable given what we had been doing, and they twinged now. It felt good in the same perverse way that being sore after a hard workout felt good and I squirmed a little under Lance’s body to feel more of it. But I had every intention of following through on my promise to Lance about changing his mind, so let my hands drift down and slip beneath the hem of his shirt. 

We had both shed our leather armor earlier in the day, so it was easy enough for me to get my hands on his bare skin beneath the two thin layers he wore, my fingers finding the sensitive places on his ribs. When he swore quietly I knew I was making progress, and I slid my hands lower to tease just below the waistline of his breeches. He gasped and his hips jerked forward reflexively. Suppressing a smirk, I murmured into our next kiss, “I want you…” 

Lance groaned and his control frayed dangerously. “You’re a brat,” he said for the second time in three days. I opened my mouth to reply but was distracted by Lance suddenly getting to his feet, pulling me with him. He backed me up against a tree and pinned my hands to my sides so I could not continue teasing him. “You’re a brat,” he repeated, “And when we get home I’m going to spank you for it.” Those words stole the breath from my lungs and made me painfully hard in moments - which, really, was just extra incentive to convince my lover that sex in a forest was perfectly acceptable. So I cheated. Our bond was already active and thrumming from all the physical touch, emotions flowing back and forth, but now I focused on a very specific idea that I knew turned Lance on far more than he cared to admit. I crafted the image in my head of me on my knees pleasuring him, looking up at him through my lashes. The feeling hit him like a punch and his grip on my wrists loosened. 

I quickly freed my hands and flipped us around so now it was  _ Lance’s  _ back to a tree, then set about undoing the laces on his breeches. He let me get as far as pulling his cock free before his paranoia kicked back in and he caught my hands, pulling me flush against his body. “We...we can’t be caught like this.”

“We’re far enough from the village, and we’ll undoubtedly hear if someone is coming.” 

But Lance was genuinely stressed about this, so backed off a bit. “Trust me,” I whispered, working my own breeches open. I wanted him and I was going to have him, but in the least revealing way possible. I took both our cocks in my hand and began to stroke quickly and firmly, resting my head against Lance’s shoulder as I did. His arms tightened around me and, in spite of the setting and the hurry, it felt oddly intimate and sweet. 

Lance moaned aloud when he came, knees buckling as he sagged against the tree. I slipped an arm around his waist to help support him, then began carefully tucking us both away. He collected himself enough to help, looking sheepish. He was worried I would be upset with him, so I reassured him with a kiss and the murmured words, “I understand your concern. It’s fine.” And it really was fine. 

I took his hand and we walked like that the short way back to our little camp. Lance immediately set about poking the fire back to life and I stretched out on the ground nearby, sleepy and sated. “Thank you for indulging me.” 

He looked at me in shock, then laughed and shook his head. “If you count that as me indulging you then you are far too easy to please,” he teased gently.

“Mayhap so. I’m going to hold you to your promise of a spanking though.”

“Two,” he corrected. 

“Excuse me?”

Lance smirked over at me. “I think I owe you two spankings - one for today, and one for when we were hunting.” 

My incredulity - and anticipation - must have shown in my face in some humorous manner, for Lancelot started laughing. I threw an acorn at him, bouncing it off his shoulder and threatened, “Be nice or I won’t make you dinner.” In spite of my teasing, however, I was half hard again just from those words, and I wondered if Lance fully realized the power that particular fantasy of mine had over me. 

“Mm dinner does sound rather nice.” 

I got up and cooked, and we ate in companionable silence, shoulder to shoulder so we could feel each other’s body heat. It was simple fare, but the company was good, and we waited until we were both finished to bring up the topic of why we. We're camped out here in the first place. 

“I suspect that Claudus or his sons will come by either tonight or tomorrow night,” commented Lance, “It seems from what Sarah and John said that they’ve been getting... _ visits  _ about once a week, and the timing would be right. Besides, after the last threats that they made…”

I agreed and added, “Hopefully tonight. Nice as this is, I’m looking forward to going back to the villa.” We shared a laugh at that, both knowing why I was so eager, but then I pulled the conversation back to the topic at hand. “What is your plan, exactly, if they come?”

Lance smiled, the kind that made most people take a few hurried steps back. “Scare him and send him home with his tail between his legs.” 

I grinned. That sounded good to me. 

 

That night, Lance and I went to bed fully dressed with our hands on our daggers. Neither of us slept soundly, anticipating the arrival of our query - we napped, rather than truly slept. 

Our instincts were good, and not long after midnight we were woken by the sound of approaching hoofbeats. Lance rolled easily to his feet and I followed, noting - based on our conversation earlier in the day - that he was moving more smoothly and powerfully than before. Perhaps our bond really was helping him feel younger. (If so, I would be the  _ last _ person to complain.) 

Lance and I had discussed our plan before we went to bed, and followed it now, melting into the shadows and working our way quietly toward the cottage. Sure enough, Claudus was there with two others whom I assumed to be his sons - there was an undeniable family resemblance. All three were mounted and carried torches. It would have been a frightening sight, had Lance and I not faced much, much worse on many occasions. 

One of Claudus’ sons dismounted and pounded on the cottage door, shouting, “Come out!” When there was no response he pounded again, this time yelling, “Churl! Come out here with your wife or we’ll set fire to this hovel!” 

I heard the scrape of metal as, several paces away from me, Lancelot drew his sword and stepped into the wavering torchlight. 

“I think you’ll find,” he said lowly, “That they are not home just now.” 

The blade he held at the ready reflected back the wavering firelight, and cast Lancelot’s form in stark relief - ebony hair and clothes, and flinty eyes. It was moments like this that he most looked like the Morrigan’s grandson, and I couldn’t help but smile a bit at the fear that flashed briefly over the faces of the would-be vandals. They weren’t entirely stupid, however, and Claudus snapped, “Three to one are not good odds, even for you.”

“Who said it’s three to one?” I asked, pitching my voice a little lower than usual and edging only partly out of the shadows, using the darkness to make my own form more imposing and obscure my face from Claudus’ mocking eyes. I knew he didn’t think highly of me.  The son on foot backed up several paces away from the cottage. 

“You’re trespassing on my land, Claudus, and threatening my people.” Lancelot sounded  _ furious _ , which was frankly terrifying to be on the receiving end of; I’d seen better men the Claudus shrink before Lancelot’s rage _.  _ “You’re not a fighter. You’ve more than admitted that. And I’ll bet that your sons barely know how to hold the swords they’re carrying there.” Claudus opened his mouth to respond, but Lance took another sharp step forward and spoke over him, “ _ Shut up  _ and listen. Get the fuck off my land, and stay away from the people who live here. I’ll be keeping an eye on this place in particular and believe me, I will know if you or anyone associated with you comes back here  _ and there will be hell to pay. _ ”

Claudus laughed, but it sounded forced. “And? What will you do? What can you do to stop me? If I were to set fire to this shack right now what would you do? You can’t just start a  _ fight _ with me, you’ll-”

“I’m King’s Champion. I have limited Crown Authority. There is nothing to stop me from killing you here and now. Nothing at all.” The truly frightening thing was that that was only a very slight exaggeration. If Lance were to kill Claudus, he and I would only have to justify ourselves to Arthur, and he would trust that we had done it for a good reason. A shudder went through me at the thought (which rarely allowed myself to entertain) of how much unchecked power Lancelot and I wielded together. 

It got through to Claudus though, possibly because, more intimidating than the words themselves was the calm, matter-of-fact tone in which Lance said them. I found myself smiling a little as Claudus visibly paled in the torchlight and both of his sons began edging away, back in the direction from whence they had come. 

“Y-you wouldn’t dare…” stammered the man, but he sounded far less confident than earlier. 

“Try me,” dared Lance, tilting his chin up in challenge and taking another step forward. 

That broke the nerve of one of the sons, who wheeled his horse around and set off at a canter in the dark forest. The other son mounted quickly, uncoordinated in his haste, and said nervously to his father, “Come, we should go…”

“You should listen to the boy, Claudus,” said Lance, “He’s more sense than you.”

“I will not be driven off-”

I cut him off. “Is this old mill really worth your lives?” Of course Lance and I wouldn’t really kill over such a thing (though if Sarah or John were harmed I truly believed that Lancelot would exact a terrible vengeance for it), but Claudus didn’t know that we had no real intention of fighting this night. And he did seem to be smart enough to realize that we would win if we did. 

With a final snarl in our direction, Claudus yanked his horse’s head around and rode away, remaining son in tow. Once they were long gone, I gave up holding in my mirth, sat down and began to laugh hysterically. Lancelot shot me a curious and vaguely concerned glance. “Are you quite alright?”

I nodded, still laughing too hard to speak properly. I fought for a modicum of self control and managed to choke out, “Oh gods, that was...his face...I…” I was again overtaken by mirth for several long moments before managing to finish the sentence, “That was the most fun I’ve had in ages.”

Lancelot sat down beside me, a sideways grin on his face. “It was rather amusing,” he agreed, before giving into a chuckle of his own. “Suitably intimidating was I?”

I nodded. “Terrifying. It was perfect. And fucking hot too - at least to me.” It was too dark to tell if Lance was blushing, but based on the sensation of embarrassment I could sense from him I figured it was a good bet that he was. That line of thinking was interrupted, however, when I suddenly yawned hugely. 

Lance smiled warmly at me, suddenly overcome with affection. But all he said was, “Come on, let’s get some proper sleep.” If his voice suddenly sounded slightly choked from emotion, I chose not to comment. 

We walked hand in hand the short way back to our little campsite in satisfied silence. It had been a good - if slightly odd - night’s work, and it felt good to have done something useful during our restful days at Lance’s estate. Nonetheless, I was very much looking forward to a proper bed and a hot bath when we got back to the villa. I voiced this last sentiment to Lance and he agreed, then mused, “Actually….we  _ could  _ go back tonight if you don’t mind getting there sort of absurdly late.” 

“Would we even be able to get in?” I asked, assuming the gates would be locked tight this time of night. 

“I know a way in,” replied Lance with a smirk. 

*  *  *  *

There were, in fact, two ways in to my villa that did not involve the main gate. The first was a proper passageway which I had discovered during my first thorough inspection of the place. It had been in disrepair at the time, but I had personally fixed and improved it. The entrance from the outside was near a well behind the main villa on the side of the kitchens, hidden under a flagstone. Inside, the passage terminated in two locations: at a bookcase in my study that was really a cleverly concealed door; and in the back of the dressing room in the master suite, behind a tapestry. Gareth looked most interested when I told him this, but, like the clever boy he was, asked only, “And the second way?”

I laughed awkwardly. “Well...there’s a place where the ivy grows thick enough that you can use it to climb over the wall.” 

Gareth looked at me for a moment in disbelief, then laughed delightedly. “Really? Oh let’s!”

We packed our things and saddled up the horses, an activity which took only a handful of minutes, even in the dark of the forest, years of practice having long since made us adept; but it wasn’t until we were half way back to the villa that Gareth suddenly sat up straighter and asked, “Surely there will be guards posted and awake? We could just knock on the gate, couldn’t we?”

“Yes.”

He was quiet for a moment, then, “Is it terrible for me to say that I’d rather climb the ivy?” 

We glanced at each other and then laughed (Gareth perhaps giggled). I shook my head in amusement. “Ivy it is.” 

“But...there  _ will _ be guards.” 

“I bet we can avoid them,” I suggested with a smirk.

 

We left the horses outside, loosely tethered, trusting their training to keep them there until morning, and I set off first up the ivy, still suppressing chuckles. I had rarely been this childish even as a boy, yet somehow Gareth brought out this side of me. I rather enjoyed it - to my surprise. 

Gareth followed me up and over the top of the wall, out onto the roof of the stables, the climb easy for both of us given our training. There were indeed guards - two of them stationed below beside the main gate - so we crouched in the shadow of the wall and waited until a cloud covered the moon to slip along to a trap door in the roof that led into the hayloft. We made it all the way into the main hall without being detected, enjoying putting our skills to the test for fun rather than with deadly intent. 

Once inside, however, we made the mistake of letting our guard down slightly. I stepped out of the shadow of the wall to open the door to my wing, and startled a guard half out of his wits. He jumped backwards, scrambling for the blade he carried, and I quickly held up my hands in a calming gesture. “It’s me, Lancelot.” 

“How- Sorry, milord. I...didn’t realize you had returned.”

Behind me, Gareth laughed softly and stepped forward as well. “That was a remarkably smooth recovery,” he complimented the young man, “We just came back, actually. Sorry to disturb you.” 

“R-right. Well…good night then, milords.” 

I sensed Gareth’s surprise at the plural, but he made no further comment and the guard went on his way. Gareth and I retreated to our room, collapsed onto the bed fully dressed, and were asleep within moments. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a general note: As things stand now, I think there may be one to two more chapters in this part (though I don't have them planned in detail so who knows), then an epilogue. Beyond that I have fairly detailed plans for a Part IV and beyond : ) 
> 
> Come say 'hi' on [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/gwyndulac) (I'm GwynDuLac there too). 
> 
> Comments and kudos much appreciated : )


	12. A Very Special Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gareth and Lancelot have both lost track of the time a bit. Luckily, Gawain contrives to remind them that today is a special day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Whew* Okay, very long chapter that was very fun to write! It's been mostly done for about a week but finding time to edit it was a pain. (And I decided I needed to make more time for editing after re-reading some previous chapters and finding pretty egregious errors *wince*).

I had very much been looking forward to a bath when we woke the following morning. As it turned out, however, there were other things that I was more interested in. Gareth and I were up with the sun because we had forgotten to close the drapes the night before. He rolled over, pressed his face into my shoulder, and muttered something that might have been “good morning” or might have been “fucking sunshine”. Either way, it was utterly adorable. I pulled him a little further up my body so I could kiss him properly, which seemed to wake him up fairly quickly. 

“Ugh,” said Gareth after a minute or two, “I need a bath. And you need to shave.” 

I mock-scowled at him and when he tried to squirm out of my grip I rolled us over in bed. Feeling his lithe body beneath mine sent blood straight to my cock, so I kissed him again, all teeth and tongue this time. When we broke apart I reached for the laces on his breeches, but Gareth squirmed away from me like an eel, laughing, “Oh no. You have to wait. You’re the one who refused to have proper sex yesterday, so you can wait now until we’ve both had a bath.” So saying, he scooped up an armful of clean clothes, and darted out into the hall. I stared after him for a moment, then, grumbling, followed him to the baths. 

The mistake that Gareth made, however, was being nearly undressed by the time I got there. He’d already removed his boots, doublet, and shirt, and, with his hair tousled from sleep and a shadow of stubble along his jaw, he presented far too tempting an image for me to resist. I slipped up behind him and wrapped my arms around him, trapping him against my chest, then began to kiss his neck. I left a mark on his shoulder because I’m a possessive bastard, then murmured in his ear, “How about I make it up to you, not having sex with you yesterday, that is?” 

“Mm…” he hummed, trying to sound thoughtful, but I could feel the pleasure pulsing through him. He liked it when I held him like this, the way he could feel the strength in my larger body, and he wasn’t serious about wanting to wait until after a bath. I’d already won that battle it seemed. 

I slid my hands lower, reaching for the laces on his breeches, but he swatted my hands away and turned around instead so that he could kiss me on the mouth. I ended up backing him up against the wall, pressing him there firmly as we kissed like we were drowning. Suddenly, I got a flash of what Gareth was in the mood for - the kind of manhandling we had indulged in a few days earlier. I smirked against his lips, then grabbed his hips and spun him round so he was facing the wall. He put his hands against it to steady himself, and I pressed my own hands over his for a moment, growling in his ear, “Keep those there.” He whimpered and pushed back against me, but didn’t move his hands from where they were splayed almost elegantly over the mosaic. Now I was free to finally tackle the laces on his breeches, and in moments I had them undone, pushing the garment down to his knees. Then I stepped away. Gareth shivered, but stayed put; I had to resist the urge to call him a good boy. Instead, I rewarded him by stripping off my own outer layers as quickly as possible, and fetching the nearest jar of oil. 

We had never done it quite like this before; I had always been too interested in being gentle and making sure Gareth felt loved and cared for. But now that I knew how much he liked this sort of thing - and now that I could feel his desire pulsing along our bond - I was perfectly happy to pursue it. Being allowed to be a little rough and possessive with him satisfied some of my own darker urges, and I was coming to terms with that, with not being ashamed of it. 

I slicked my fingers with oil and slid one carefully but rather impatiently into Gareth’s body. He keened and threw his head back, but still didn’t move his hands. A little thrill went through me. As much as I respected Gareth as a warrior in his own right - and an immensely competent one at that - I had to admit that I loved this side of him, his willingness to give himself over to me and do as he was told in bed. Equally I loved it when he bossed me around, or when he teasingly poked and prodded to get a rise out of me. I loved  _ him.  _ I wasn’t going to be distracted by sappy thoughts though; I had  _ wanted  _ Gareth yesterday, and I was damn well going to have him now. 

*  *  *  *

This was almost too good to be true, but then, I found myself thinking that about a lot of the sex I had with Lance. He had somehow figured out exactly what I wanted this morning, and was doing it beautifully. I loved the feeling of Lance pressing me up against the wall, his big, strong hands covering mine, gripping my hips, my waist. I’d never get enough of having his fingers inside of me - those long, elegant fingers of his were perfect for it. But I was even happier when he withdrew them and pressed in with his cock instead. It made my knees go week and I slumped a little into the wall - but I left my hands just where Lance had put them because I liked doing what he told me (most of the time, especially in the context of sex) - I liked making Lance proud of me. 

He wasn't fucking  _ moving  _ though. I wiggled a little, canting my hips back a rather desperately. I might at one time have been somewhat embarrassed by that, but not now, and certainly not with Lance. Now that I knew that Lance wouldn't be bothered by such things, I was perfectly happy to do it. Lance laughed against my neck and asked silkily, “Want something, do you?”

“Fuck you,” I shot back, desperate for stimulation beyond the almost-too-good-stretch. 

“I rather think I'm the one fucking you right now.”

“Then fuck me properly, you utter ass.”

He laughed and tightened his grip on my hips. “Ask me nicely then.” 

I gritted my teeth, swallowed my pride (which wasn't terribly hard to do in this case) and did what Lance had asked. And I did it was well as I could, because I wanted to please him. “Please, Lancelot.  _ Please  _ fuck me. I want to feel you. It feels  _ so _ good when you fuck me.”

Lance moaned and gave in, pulling back, then snapping his hips forward and knocking all the wind out of my lungs. I braced myself against the wall, trusted Lance to help me keep my balance, and sank into the feeling of being pressed up against a wall and fucked hard by the man I loved. It was perfect. At some point, my eyes fell closed and I just lost myself to the physical pleasure and to the surging emotions from my bond with Lance. He was enjoying this thoroughly too, revelling in the feeling of power he got from having me like this. He also considered himself extremely lucky, which I thought was rather sweet, but didn't have the mental focus to really consider it just then. 

I came first, but only by a heartbeat. Lance somehow managed to keep us both upright, which was fortunate for me or I would have just slumped bonelessly to the floor. We stumbled over to one of the convenient benches further along the wall and sank down onto it. I leaned back against the wall, thoroughly debauched - breeches still around my knees and my own cum sticky on my skin - and watched as Lancelot finished undressing himself. He looked good. Early morning light came through a few narrow windows around the top of the room, giving Lance’s skin a soft golden glow. He has put on a little weight during our time at the villa, smoothing away some of the hard edges - after Lyonesse he had been skin and bones, and it was a relief to see him looking so healthy now. 

Once Lance was naked, he came over and knelt in front of me. “Now that's a nice image,” I mumbled happily. He smirked at me and began gently removing my breeches. “I can do that,” I told him, though I made no move to help. I loved it when Lance took care of me like this, it made me feel all warm and fuzzy, my mind going quiet and blurry. 

“I know you can, but I want to,” he assured me. Then, discarding my breeches to one side, he did something completely unexpected. Lance slid one arm around my shoulders and the other behind my knees and actually  _ picked me up  _ and carried me like that right into the bath. I looped my arms around his neck and giggled, but warned him not to slip on the steps. He kissed my hair and said simply, “You know, a month ago I would not have tried this.”

“You feel that much better hm?” I asked, immensely pleased. 

“Yes, I do.” 

I swatted Lance’s hands away gently when he started to wash me and said instead, “Go shave. I wasn't joking about that part.” All the talking had brought me out of the warm, fuzzy place in my mind, and instead I felt wide awake, but still wonderfully content from the amazing sex. 

“Don’t forget that I already owe you two spankings,” Lance teased, obviously more comfortable with the idea now than he originally had been. I groaned as my spent cock twitched at the thought, but even I couldn’t get hard again quite that quickly. 

 

We washed up and kissed some more before going to seek out breakfast. In the main hall, we ran right into Sarah, John, and Elaine, all three of whom were visibly surprised (to varying degrees) to see us back. Lancelot smiled warmly and asked if they had had breakfast yet. They hadn’t, so we all sat down together so that Lance and I could share the good news about Claudus. 

“He shouldn’t bother you again,” said Lancelot after briefly outlining what had happened (downplaying his own dramatics somewhat), “But if he  _ does  _ you must tell Elaine so she can write to me. I’ll set him straight if he puts so much as a toe out of line again. Hell, I’ll have  _ Arthur  _ set him straight. There’s no call for someone like him to be trying to steal land from another lord.” While the couple paled slightly at the implication that Lancelot had the power to get the King involved, I mentally I filled in the blank in what Lance had said: The King would  _ not  _ be pleased when he heard about Claudus’ antics. Lancelot went on, “We also looked at the mill while we were there. As far as I can see, you’re correct that the millstones and the main works should still be functional if the wheel and building are fixed up. So, I want you to get it back in working order, and in order to help you with that I’m going have Elaine set aside some money for you to use for the project.”

“That’s extremely generous,” said Sarah, while John just stared in wide-eyed amazement, “We will pay you back of-”

“No,” interrupted Lance firmly but gently, “You won’t. This is not loan, or charity. It is in everyone’s best interest to have that mill running and if you are willing to put in the work then I am happy to pay for the materials. Once the mill is in use you can, of course, keep the profits.”

I smiled at the looks of shock and hope on John and Sarah’s faces. This was their path to a more stable and secure future. Lancelot’s eyes crinkled slightly in a small smile as well, then turned to Elaine to allow them to collect themselves, and said, “I’ll speak with you later about the details.”

“Of course,” she agreed, also looking immensely pleased. 

Under the table, I reached over and gave Lance’s hand a little squeeze, hoping he could feel how proud I was. He squeezed back and the world seemed to get a little brighter. 

John and Sarah were understandably most relieved and excited by both pieces of news, and they soon set out toward their home to resume their lives. Lancelot and Elaine retreated to the study to put in order the details for the money for the mail, and I went out to the stables to apologize to Equinox and Xiphos for leaving them outside the gates all night. Seeing the unimpressed expression upon the stable masters face I apologized to him as well. It certainly hadn't done the warhorses any harm to spend the evening beyond the walls, but it had been somewhat cruel to leave them within a few feet of their warm comfortable stalls. In our defense, we had not wanted to disturb (frighten) the guards. Minor pieces of business attended to, Lancelot and I considered how to spend the rest of this particularly lovely summer day. 

Standing in the courtyard, gazing up at the cloudless sapphire sky, it occurred to me that it was now properly summer. A thought struck me, and I began to do a little mental math, but before I got very far Lancelot slipped up behind me, soundless as a cat, and slid his arms around my waist. It was an unusual display of affection in such a public place, and I couldn't help but notice that one of the kitchen maids who was passing by giggled. I certainly wasn't going to complain though; I leaned back a little into Lance's strength and asked, "So, you've decided that it is alright with you if everyone here knows we are together?”

I felt him shrug. "I suppose I realized that they all knew anyway, and I wanted to take advantage of the ability to do this to you before we go back to Camelot."

I smiled a little at that sentiment, but the thought of Camelot and its politics and pressures threatened to put a damper on my good spirits. Just then, the sound of approaching hoofbeats distracted us both. Lancelot straightened up and put an almost respectable amount of space between us, and we both turned toward the gates. They were open, as I had discovered was typical during the day here in the heart of a mostly peaceful Britain, and through the opening we could see a horse and rider coming along the path at a jaunty trout. The man wore the colors of a Camelot messenger and I felt my stomach drop slightly; I sensed through the bond that Lancelot was similarly concerned that we were about to be recalled to the capital due to some emergency.

"Lord Lancelot. Sir Gareth," said the messenger with a respectful nod as he dismounted in the courtyard, "I have a package for you from Prince Gawain." Lance and I exchanged a curious look while everyone else in the courtyard subtly paused in their work to stare. Distantly, I noted a certain amount of widening eyes and tittering at the words ‘Prince Gawain’. I understood. It had taken me long enough to get used to rubbing shoulders with royalty, and I suppose that most of the staff here at the villa probably did not realize that Lancelot was himself a king any more than I had. 

I accepted the package, a fairly bulky affair wrapped in clean canvas, and opened the small, folded piece of parchment attached to it. Inside was a note in familiar, neat script that read:

> Little Brother,
> 
> You and Lancelot left so abruptly last week that it appears that Lancelot left behind something rather important. I believe these were intended for you on the occasion of your birthday, so I thought I would send them on. I'm afraid I have to admit to a small abuse of power to ensure that they arrived on the appropriate date. (Do see to it that the poor messenger is given a decent meal and a chance to rest before he returns to Camelot; he rode out in the middle of the night in order to reach you.)
> 
> Best wishes on your birthday,
> 
> Gawain

Thoroughly intrigued now, I began to untie the canvas to reveal whatever lay inside. Meanwhile, Lancelot's, who had read the note over my shoulder, dropped his face into his hands and swore quietly. "Ye gods I am such a fool," he groaned, "I cannot believe that I forgot that today was your birthday."

I laughed, though not unkindly. "In all fairness, I myself had only just remembered, and I hadn't yet ascertained that it was indeed today. I'm afraid I've rather lost track of time while we've been here." Then the cloth fell away from the gift, and I felt my eyes widen. I was holding a beautiful grey leather breastplate, subtly embossed with compass rose in the curve at the base of the sternum. The buckles were burnished dark silver, and the whole thing was visibly finely made. I looked up and Lance, then down at the armor, then back up at my lover again. “It- I...Thank you,” I stammered, somewhat at a loss for words. I wanted to express how much it meant to me that he had gotten me something that I so badly needed - that he had been paying attention enough to think of it. 

“I had it made for you based on the measurements for your other one, so it should fit well…” murmured Lance awkwardly, scuffing one boot against the ground in an almost childish gesture that made my chest go all warm with affection. 

“It’s beautiful. Thank you.”

Lance picked it up to look at it more closely and I realized that there were two other, smaller objects in the package as well - a pair of greaves to match the breastplate. “Ah, yes,” said Lance, “And those are from Gawain. He insisted.” 

*  *  *  *

Gareth looked stunned by the gifts, especially the realization that Gawain and I had colluded a bit. He didn’t even care that I had literally forgotten that today was his birthday. It was sweet and a little sad and I found myself reaching out to put an arm around his shoulders even though there were people around us. “I’m glad you like them.”

“I love them!” he laughed, then, “We should spar so I can try them out!” There was an argument to be made that he should be sparring in his  _ old  _ things, but I understood that he wanted to wear the (admittedly beautiful) new armor. 

So spar we did - joyfully and enthusiastically, whirling around the salle in a swirl of blades and laughter. The only other person I had ever sparred with like this - the only other person who made it like  _ dancing  _ like this  _ \-  _ was Arthur. So perhaps I had not gotten my dance with Gareth during the feast, but I was getting it now in a different way as we both showed off our skills for the audience of household staff that had gathered. I didn’t even mind. 

It was surprisingly freeing to spar like this, with no need to demonstrate technique for squires or to show off for nobles wandering by. I found myself smiling and even laughing; we bantered back and forth as we moved on from taught moves and began inventing as we went. This was the first time I had seen Gareth do this extensively, and it made me go warm all over with pride and pleasure. I could count on one hand the number of people who could innovate effectively on their feet in the middle of a fight, and witnessing it was a delight. Oh sure plenty of experienced fighters could adapt their style, but what Gareth and I were doing now was something beyond that, trying out things we had never been taught just to see what worked - neither of us seriously trying to win as that would put an end to our fun. 

In fact, we were enjoying ourselves so much that I hardly even noticed as my muscles began to burn and sweat ran into my eyes. Finally, however, Elaine knocked loudly on the doorframe and said in a carrying voice, “Alright everyone, Cook says lunch is ready and she would be obliged if we would eat it while it is still hot.”

Gareth and I shared a glance, mutually and silently agreeing to a draw, and lowered our weapons. Suddenly my arms felt like lead and I realized that I was breathing heavily, as was Gareth. I walked over to him, and reached out. We clasped hands somewhat formally. All I really wanted to do was embrace him and tell him how amazing he was, but that would have to wait until we had a  _ bit  _ more privacy, so instead I smiled as warmly as I could and said, “Brilliant. Utterly brilliant.”

“Well,” he grinned back, “I did learn from the best - and not just you. But mostly you.” We began setting aside our things and the salle cleared out. Once most everyone was gone, Gareth added more quietly, “You know, I watched you and Arthur fight like that once, ages ago when I was a squire. I was so impressed. It never even occurred to me that I would be able to do that some day - let alone with  _ you _ .”  He sounded vaguely awed, but even with the advantage of our emotional bond I couldn’t tell if he was in awe of his own skill, or of the fact that he  _ had  _ gotten do that with me, or something else altogether. I squeezed his shoulder gently, hoping he could sense how overwhelming proud I was of him. We fell into a comfortable silence then, as if no more words were needed for the time being, and went out to douse our heads in the horse trough before going in for lunch. 

*  *  *  *

I could recall distinctly the day I had seen Lancelot and the King put on a display much like the once Lance and I had just engaged in, and I kept turning the memory over in my head throughout the meal, paying just enough attention the chatter around us to smile and nod at appropriate moments. Everyone seemed to accept that Lancelot and I had tired ourselves out, so our participation in the happy conversations was not expected. Beside me, Lancelot lounged almost indolently, an air he only rarely adopted; I associated it most closely with those early days when we were at war and Lancelot would sprawl bonelessly in Arthur’s camp chair while the King paced and planned, as if he could pretend to relax enough for both of them (in spite of the fact that Lance was patently terrible at relaxing, especially near a battlefield). But my mind would not be distracted from that other memory, the one of a still summer afternoon and a display of swordsmanship such as I never thought to see again.

> _ Bedwyr and Lancelot were teaching the squires, which was not terribly uncommon, Bedwyr being our usual instructor and Lancelot helping when he had the time. On this afternoon, however, many of the older boys were restless, thinking themselves quite competent already. One in particular, an arrogant bastard who was the son of a duke, even challenged directly “why are those of us who are nearly knights ourselves are still subjected to this and treated like children?” Bedwyr opened his mouth to give him the standard lecture about how everyone always has room to improve and how it was his job to make sure we didn’t all go get ourselves killed in our first real fight, but Lancelot stopped him with a hand on his arm.  _
> 
> _ The Champion had seen Arthur walking by, a little way beyond the practice field fence, and now called out to him, “Sire! Have you a moment?” Arthur, looking curious, came over, and Lancelot asked with a smile lurking in his voice, “Have you time for a bit of sparring, Sire?”  _
> 
> _ “Against you?” Arthur inquired, eyes sparkling and hair glowing in the sun.  _
> 
> _ “Of course!” _
> 
> _ The King was still and quiet a moment, then smiled and agreed, vaulting easily over the fence. He was twenty-nine, still very much in the prime of his life, and it showed in the powerful, easy way that he moved. Lancelot fetched another practice sword while the King stripped off his cloak and doublet, for it was a sultry sort of day and quite hot on the field. Neither man put on armor, though Bedwyr scowled and muttered about setting a bad example.  _
> 
> _ I had seen Lancelot and Arthur spar a handful of times before this, and so did not watch with quite the same open curiosity as the others as the two men squared off against one another. I thought I knew what to expect. I was very wrong.  _
> 
> _ They spent the first twenty minutes or so demonstrating every attack, parry, and counterattack that we had learned, and all their variations. Then they began trying to best each other in earnest, and were soon inventing as they went, trying to take advantages of each other’s almost nonexistent weaknesses. It was like watching a complicated and beautiful dance, and it went on and on and on. Slowly, nobles, servants, and even some of the townspeople gathered to ogle at the display. It was perfectly clear that they were evenly matched. They fought to the point of exhaustion and beyond trying to best each other, damp with sweat but smiling all the while. Finally, Lancelot cast aside his sword and fell to his knees, saying, “I yield, Sire.” The king laid his own blade against Lancelot’s neck for the barest moment, then stuck the weapon point down in the ground and pulled his friend to his feet and into an embrace, complimenting  him loudly on his skill. It was a lesson both in swordsmanship and respect.  _
> 
> _ I wondered idly if that was how my sparring match with Lancelot would have ended if we had not been interrupted. I certainly would have been willing to yield to him if I had gotten sufficiently tired - or if I had wanted to make a point, as Lance had wanted to do that afternoon nine years ago.  _

I came back to the present as the meal ended and Elaine suggested with a hint of humor that Lance and I go make use of the baths for the second time. We laughed and agreed. I was beginning to itch under my clothes from dried sweat and decided that we might as well take advantage of the baths while we were still here. The prospect of returning to Camelot was beginning to loom, but I put it out of my mind and smiled at Lance. 

We didn’t speak, however, until we were neck deep in hot water; the companionable silence we shared was one of my favorite parts of our relationship. “I’m glad we did that,” murmured Lance finally, referring of course to our sparring match earlier. 

“Me too!” I enthused, ducking my head under the water briefly and then shaking myself off a bit. The affectionate smile he gave me made my heart clench painfully in my chest. There weren’t words for how much I loved this man. 

Lance, meanwhile, apparently oblivious to my inner stumble, went on with a slight groan, “I don’t think I’ll be making a habit of it though. I’m exhausted.”

“You’re still recovering,” I reminded him, “Even if you are feeling markedly better than before, your body took a beating not long ago - it’s alright to be tired by...what must it have been? Well over an hour of hard swordplay?”

“Mm,” he hummed his agreement, leaning back on one of the benches and closing his eyes, “I’ve fought in battles that didn’t last nearly that long.”

“My point exactly.” Lance chuckled a little and stretched. I watched, still thinking about how much I adored him, and had a sudden moment of inspiration. “Let me give you a massage,” I offered. 

Lance cracked one eye open and asked, “Here?” But that was essentially agreement from him, so I smiled. 

“How about in our room, where you can lie on the bed?”

“You don’t...need to coddle me or anything, Gareth,” he said, a little uncomfortably, “I’m fine. Just tired. Good tired, to be honest.”

“I’m not suggesting there’s anything wrong,” I assured him, sidling over so I could nudge his leg with mine companionably, “I’m just suggesting that I do something to make you feel good. I like doing that.”

“Well...that’s rather hard to say ‘no’ to, isn’t it?” I gave him a Look and he laughed. I realized I had probably heard him laugh more in the past week than I had in the last year. “Alright alright. You win. Let’s get dried off and you can have your way with me.”

“Oh, I plan to!”

*  *  *  *

I had the vague sense that Gareth was planning something, but I said nothing as we got dressed. A massage from him sounded  _ lovely _ . Unfortunately, we were accosted a few steps from the bedroom door by Elaine. “Lancelot,” she said perfunctorily, “I need to borrow you for a bit. We ought to sort out the funds for the mill, and there is an irregularity with the accounts that we’ve discovered. At first I thought it was just a minor accounting error, but something with the taxes genuinely isn’t adding up - quite literally - and you’ve got a better mind for that than I, plus a fresher pair of eyes. Might as well sort both at once.”

“I thought we went over the accounts earlier in the week?” I didn’t sound petulant, I swear. 

“We did,” said Elaine rather apologetically, “But only insofar as I showed you the expenses for the year for your approval. This is on the other side of things - taxes collected and owed.”

I suppressed a sigh (mostly) and offered Gareth a rueful smile. “Think you can keep yourself occupied for a bit while I sort this?”

“Of course,” he said, only mildly put out, then offered me a smile which said quite clearly that he still had Plans for me when I was through. My stomach turned pleasantly and I silently cursed taxes and accounts and all the rest of it. Gareth added, looking at Elaine, “Do you suppose Galahad would like to spar or go for a ride?”

“Gods, is your energy  _ endless _ ?” I asked before I could think better of it. 

Gareth smirked and Elaine inquired altogether too innocently, “Having trouble keeping up with your younger lover, are you?”

I tried to give her an unamused look, but it was hard with Gareth giggling, “Hasn’t been a problem so far.” Elaine joined in the giggling

“Alright, that’s quite enough out of both of you,” I informed them, trying not entirely successfully to adopt a stern tone, “Gareth, go wear yourself out for a bit with Galahad. Elaine, the accounts?”

Gareth gave a little mock salute and took himself off to find the boy, and Elaine and I retreated to the study with some chilled wine and settled into a long afternoon of painstaking calculations, trying to account for every bit of tax collected, and every bit that the estate owed to Camelot. Elaine and her helper, a grandmotherly woman who was immensely good with numbers, was correct that there was something off, but it took us the better part of the afternoon for us to find it. Wracking my brains for changes in the tax code didn’t help, nor did recalculating the whole lot. Finally, we were forced to admit that some of the money was simply  _ missing  _ and I did not like what that implied. 

“Christ, I hate to think that anyone has been stealing,” I groaned, leaning back in my chair and stretching my arms over my head, hearing both shoulders pop. I was sore and tired - not just pleasantly sore from sparring but tense and in pain from bending over a desk for several hours. 

Elaine hummed her agreement. “It would almost have to be someone in the household. Unless…” Her eyebrows drew together suddenly as if she had thought of something, and she got up and quickly went over to the bookshelves, clearly looking for a particular volume. We sat quietly and waited, both well aware that Elaine knew the goings-on of this land better than anyone. After a few moments, she found what she was looking for and removed a leather-bound volume with a little “hah!” Plunking it down on the desk, Elaine explained as she began to leave through the pages, “These are the chronicles I’ve been trying to keep. They’re hardly comprehensive, but I seem to recall that…” she trailed off, eyes narrowing, and several moments later she jabbed her finger into the middle of a page. “Here! There was a tax collector came through just after the equinox and offered to help us collect the tithe…” I could suddenly see where this was going. 

“You think he skimmed off the top?”

“I’m quite sure he did.” 

Sure enough, there were notes about how much tax had been collected, and they did not match up to what should have been in the accounts, but it wasn’t apparent unless one looked at the whole past year’s worth of numbers together. 

“I don’t suppose you have his name?” I enquired, “Arthur will be bloody furious; if the bastard has done it here he’s probably done it elsewhere. Arthur has enough trouble getting people to pay taxes when the collectors are trustworthy!”

Elaine did have the name, of course. I made a note of it, thanked her for her thoroughness, and told them both to go get some rest. Then I retreated to my own room and threw myself onto the couch near the hearth, quietly lamenting the downturn my day had taken and nursing the beginnings of a splitting headache. It wasn’t just the hours spent at the accounts, it was that problems of the Realm had intruded on my lovely little holiday with Gareth not once but twice now, reminding me that we would have to return to Camelot soon. For one of the first times in my life, I found myself resenting the pull of duty - to Crown, to Country, to the Greater Good that Arthur cared so much about. I growled a little to myself and threw an arm over my eyes. 

Gareth returned not long after, just as I was beginning to drift into an uncomfortable sort of doze. His cheeks were slightly flushed and he looked happy, but his smile fell away a bit when he saw me. “Have a nice afternoon?” I asked, trying for a lightness I did not feel. 

“Galahad and I went riding and I started showing him how to shoot and fight from horseback. He’s an amazingly quick learner. I hope Elaine will let him come to Camelot to be a squire - he’d make a very very fine Knight someday in the future.”

“Glad to hear it,” I said, but completely failed to sound interested at all. 

Gareth peered at me, intuiting that something was wrong. “So...how bad was your afternoon?”

I groaned and told him all of it, finishing with, “Part of me wishes I didn’t have to go back.”

“To Camelot?” He sounded surprised.

“To Camelot,” I agreed. 

Gareth was quiet for a minute, shedding sword belt and doublet and boots. Then he said slowly and thoughtfully, “It’s lovely here. Idyllic, really. Like a different world. But...I think we would both get bored here if we stayed too long. You and I…” he sobered a bit as he went on, “We weren’t meant for this kind of life, Lance. We have skills that others don’t and we’re both compelled to use them for the greater good. As soon as something bad happened we’d be pulled back and we’d feel guilty for not being there to try to prevent it. That’s who we are - and I’m proud of it and it’s part of why I love you.” 

I lifted my head to stare at him, vaguely taken aback even though I knew he was completely correct. “You sound like Arthur.”

“No I don’t. I sound like you,” said Gareth, coming over to stand beside the couch and look down at me. “You might never have said it in quite those words, but I learned it from you.” 

I sat up slowly and stared up at him, lips parted in surprise and eyes prickling with emotion. “When?” I asked simply. It wasn’t quite what I wanted to ask - I wanted to ask “ _ How _ ?” “How did I teach you this?” “How did I not notice?” “How did you grow up into such an incredible man and how could you possible claim I was responsible for that?” - but it was as close as I could choke out just then. 

“Always,” he replied, “But the closest you came to spelling it out was when you started to teach me things that I knew the other squires weren’t learning - how to pick locks and move in the shadows and kill a man so he wouldn’t make a sound. You told me then that I was only ever to do these things at the King’s command or to protect people who needed it, because these were things that bad people did, but sometimes bad things had to be done by good people for a bigger cause.” Gareth’s eyes were a little too bright as well now and I just sat there dumbstruck. Then I reached up and pulled him down into a bruising kiss. 

“Every time I think I can’t love you more than I already do, you go and do things like this and…” I trailed off and kissed him again even harder. 

Gareth smiled against my lips and murmured, “I was thinking something similar earlier.” He settled into my lap and we kissed some more before Gareth leaned back just a bit and asked, “So, what prompted your disenchantment with the world this evening? Just the tax thing or something more?”

I shrugged awkwardly. “I suppose the tax thing is just an example of the things I find disenchanting about the rest of the world - and it reminded me of how different life in Camelot is to here, and how we’ll have to go back soon. I’m...tired. More mentally than physically I think. And I just want to enjoy the rest of our time here but now I’m all in knots about...everything.” 

It was rare for me to talk like that about my feelings, even with Gareth. But he merely gave me a sympathetic look, but said only, “Sounds like you need that massage more than ever.”

I groaned. “Oh gods that sounds good. We need dinner too though. I just have to find the energy to move…”

“No you don’t. Let me send for dinner and we can eat here. In fact, I have an idea to help you relax…”

I gave him a questioning (and perhaps vaguely skeptical look) but gestured for him to do as he pleased. I recognized that smile (smirk) he was wearing, but was more than willing to go along with his  _ plans  _ for the evening if they would distract me from my brooding. 

Gareth disappeared out the door with a little bounce in his step and returned not long after carrying a tray loaded with food. He set it on a low table near the couch, then came and stood in front of me. “Do you trust me?”

“Of course…” 

“I want to blindfold you again.” 

How Gareth said that with straight face and no obvious emotion was beyond me, for my throat went dry and my face heated just at the words. I ignored the fact that I also started to get hard, and asked instead, “What about dinner?”

“I was planning to feed you.” My mind stumbled over that idea. He was...what? Gareth sat back down in my lap again, knees either side of my hips, and went on, “Only if you’re comfortable with it, of course. But I was planning on blindfolding you, and feeding you, and then giving you the massage I promised earlier…” He carded his hands through my hair as he said all of this; the touch was calming, and I leaned into it a little. 

Gareth was quiet while I considered for a few moments. Ultimately, though I came to the conclusion that I  _ did  _ trust Gareth, and I liked the idea of relaxing and just  _ not thinking  _ for a while, so I nodded cautiously. “Alright then. That sounds rather nice, I suppose.” And it did. 

“We’ll use the same system as before, so you can tell me if you don’t like it.” I nodded again in agreement and Gareth produced a strip of soft cloth from somewhere. He laid it carefully over my eyes, and tied it securely, making sure it was comfortable before getting off my lap. I was left feeling rather bereft for a moment. Then I felt Gareth’s hands on my boot laces. “No reason we shouldn’t both be a bit more comfortable before we settle in for the evening,” he said by way of explanation. 

It felt  _ odd  _ to let myself be undressed like this, even though Gareth only took off my boots and doublet, and unlaced my shirt part way. But I played along, sitting passively and following Gareth’s instructions to lift my foot or raise my arms as necessary. I got the sense that he needed this as much as I did, and possibly wanted it considerably more. I tried not to overthink it. 

I listened carefully as Gareth brought the tray of food closer and sat down beside me. We arranged ourselves comfortably - or, rather, Gareth arranged us - then I felt something warm held to my lips. “Open,” said Gareth simply. I resisted the urge to tell him that I could feed myself, and opened my mouth silently. 

The bread was warm and soaked in butter and some sort of savory broth. I groaned a little in pleasure. The next bite was of the stew itself, rich and flavorful. I swallowed it down and said, “You’d best be eating too.”

“Oh I am,” Gareth assured me, pressing a kiss to the side of my mouth before feeding me a honey-sweetened berry. 

We stayed like that for a long time, lounging in the early evening light and the warmth of the fire, slowly eating our fill and talking sporadically about inconsequential things. I should have felt vulnerable like this, but with Gareth so close beside me I couldn’t. I didn’t even realize how relaxed I was until Gareth stood and tried to urge me to my feet. “Come lay down on the bed so I can give you a massage.” 

It took me an embarrassingly long time to coordinate my body enough to to stand, and then I had to trust Gareth to help me keep my balance, which seemed to have deserted me at some point during dinner. “Doing alright?” asked Gareth gently. 

“Y-yes. I’m fine. Just...yes, I’m good.”

Gareth didn’t press, just took my hands and led me carefully, step by step, across the room. He sat me on the side of the bed and removed my shirt, then told me to lay down. I did, malleable under his commands, and bit back a moan when his clever fingers began working at my breeches. Soon enough, I was fully undressed and laid out on the bed, with no idea at all of whether or not Gareth was equally nude, or still fully dressed. I tried not to be distracted by contemplating it. 

“Roll over,” instructed Gareth in that  _ voice _ , the one that was unyielding and made me want to do everything he said. A pulse of desire went through, and I did as I was told.

The bed was immensely comfortable, but lying face down, naked and blindfolded was more vulnerable than I was entirely comfortable with. Gareth didn’t leave me like that long, however, before I felt his weight settle over my thighs, and the smell of lavender-scented oil it my nose. Gareth ran warm, slick hands down my back, then set about working the tension from my muscles. This time I did moan, overwhelmed with a pleasure that was not entirely sexual, but not far off. The world, already distant, receded until the only thing on my mind was the feeling of Gareth’s hands.

 

*  *  *  *

Lance practically melted under my hands, and it brought a smile to my face. This was what I had wanted - for him to let me take care of him until he relaxed and sank into the feeling, as he was doing now. I wanted to take him out of his head to make him feel good, and he was letting me. So, even though I was very much looking forward to what I had planned  _ after  _ the massage, I took my own sweet time working the knots out of his back and shoulders, then moved down and worked slowly from his ankles up to his hips. Digging my thumbs into his lower back, I asked softly, “How do you feel?”

“‘mazing,” he mumbled into the blanket, “Like ‘m floating.” His words were so slurred they were almost unintelligible, which told me how he relaxed he was. I grinned and poured more oil onto my hands, then slid my fingers lower, into the cleft of his ass. I didn’t even have to ask if Lance wanted me to go on; he practically begged, “Oh gods, yes.  _ Please  _ Gareth.” 

I didn’t make him ask again; much as I enjoyed him begging, that was not the point just now. I prepared him gently and thoroughly, doing all the little things that I enjoyed having done to me, and soon Lance was squirming between my thighs, whimpering and making incoherent little noises of pleasure. I didn’t tease him for too long before I pressed carefully in, pausing to let him adjust to the feeling. Lance was boneless beneath me, but still present enough to turn his head and say, “ _ Please _ ,” again. I leaned down so my chest was flush to his back and kissed his jaw, rolling my hips as I did. He moaned, a smile touching the edges of his lips, and I marveled for a moment at my ability to make him come undone. Then I took pity on my lover and began to fuck him properly - or rather, to make love to him. That was what this whole evening had been about, and my self-control, though tenuous, was sufficient to carry it through to the end in spite of my own desperation. I was getting the backwash of Lance’s emotions and it was making simultaneously harder and easier to control myself - harder because the pleasure that was flooding through my lover’s body was overwhelming, and easier because he was enjoying this so much that I was hardly going to do anything to ruin it. 

We came together, me with a gasp and Lance with something suspiciously like a stifled sob. I disentangled us and reached for the cloth I had put on the nightstand so I could clean us both up without actually getting off the bed. Then I flopped down beside my lover and carefully removed the blindfold. Lance’s eyelashes were damp, and I kissed at his eyelids gently but didn’t comment.

“You with me?” I whispered, “Everything alright?”

He snuggled closer, pressing himself into my embrace and nuzzling at my neck. “Perfect. Just…”

“A little overwhelmed?” I offered. I could, of course, feel what he was feeling, and that was certainly the word I would use for it. He hummed his agreement. 

“Thank you,” whispered Lance sometime later, long after I thought he had fallen asleep. 

I smiled and carded my fingers through his hair. “You’re very welcome.” 

We drifted off like that, with our breathing in sync and a haze of contentedness all around us. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come say 'hi' on [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/gwyndulac) (I'm GwynDuLac there too). 
> 
> Kudos and comments much appreciated - they help me find the time and energy to write (especially now that the semester has started ugh)


	13. Jouyuse Journée

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance and Gareth make another startling discovery about the bond they share, and we learn a bit more about how Gareth became Lance’s squire. 
> 
> Alternatively: smut and fluff (in that order) with a sprinkling of plot thrown in for good measure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title is a terrible play off of the name of Lancelot’s castle in the French romance versions - Joyuese Garde. Sorry. 
> 
> Apologies for the delay in posting this. I’ve been sick twice in the last month and midterms happened. On the other hand, this chapter is nearly 9000 words, so hopefully that makes up for it a bit?
> 
> Only lightly beta’d, as usual. If you catch a glaring spelling error or something, do let me know. If you catch some sort or inconsistency with an earlier part of the story, well, I guess that’s the risk of writing and posting something in parts so...sorry? *shrug*
> 
> Note: This chapter was posted from mobile because I was stuck somewhere and bored and have no self control. As a result, the formatting is probably mucked up in a few places. I’ll try to fix it when I eventually make it home and have my laptop.
> 
> UPDATE: Formatting issues corrected!

I woke fuzzy and content, feeling vaguely drunk or hungover, but without the unpleasant side-effects. I was sprawled on top of Gareth, who was just stirring as well, and stayed there as the memories of the previous evening slowly returned. With them came a vague sense of embarrassment, but mostly I just felt a sort of affectionate warmth. Gareth had known what I needed (and wanted) better than I had, and the sex had certainly been without reproach. I was, I mused, slowly getting better at accepting his care. 

“Well,” said Gareth blearily, “I’m glad you aren’t entirely put-off by last night. I for one enjoyed it a great deal.”

“I...I’m not sure I could do it often but...yes, I enjoyed it too,” I admitted. 

“I know you did,” Gareth told me smugly, and I huffed a laugh. Yes, of course he knew. But then he added, “It’s part of why I enjoyed it so much. I mean, I do genuinely like taking care of you on occasion, but it’s especially nice to feel how good it makes you feel.” 

I could feel myself flush a little at that. The idea of being  _ taken care of  _ by anyone still didn’t set well with some of my prouder instincts, and much less so when it was my (former)  _ squire _ . But I told that frankly illogical part of my brain that it could go take a long walk off a short dock, and propped myself up on my elbows so that I could smile down at Gareth. “It did feel nice. Thank you.” I kissed him, just because I could, then added, murmuring against his lips, “I think I owe you for last night…”

“Well,” hummed Gareth, the beginnings of a dirty smirk in his voice, “You  _ do  _ still owe me two spankings. That would be a good start.”

I choked a bit on the breath I was taking. “That’s hardly a  _ reward... _ is it?” I tacked on the question belatedly because Gareth’s blown pupils and very evident arousal seemed to indicate that perhaps it was. 

He shrugged and squirmed, looking mildly embarrassed, then answered with such a rushed tumble of words that I had to concentrate a bit to follow, “I enjoy it. It’s...something I fantasized about for a long time that I honestly never thought I would get. And I was nervous last time because I thought maybe it wouldn’t be as good as I imagined but it  _ was  _ and I like the idea of more.” He glanced up at me from under his eyelashes, looking absurdly innocent and sweet, and added, “So yes, it would be a very good way to reward me.  _ Sir _ .” That last was spoken almost insolently and went straight to my already half-hard cock. I decided not to think too hard about  _ why _ and instead kissed him again, hard and insistent this time. Damn him, if he kept this up I’d never be able to hear that word without getting hard and it would be a  _ problem _ . 

With an effort of will, I dragged my mind back to the conversation at hand and away from the desire pooling in my gut. “Right then,” I said raggedly, breaking the kiss and sitting up reluctantly, “Up you get.” I pulled Gareth out of bed with me and led him around to the foot of the bed where there was an old trunk that I used to store winter blankets and clothing. I pulled it away from the bedstead a bit and sat down, all without letting go of Gareth’s hand. He was already naked from the waist down, having slept the previous night in one of my shirts.  I had put on soft sleeping pants when I had briefly woken in the night and gotten up to get a drink of water. I liked us dressed this way for what came next. 

Gareth actually smiled at me as I guided him down over my lap, and wiggled a little with excitement and nervousness as I arranged him a bit differently than the last time. I put him over my left thigh and put my right leg over the back of his knees to pin him in place. He put his hands on the floor since this time his torso wasn’t supported by anything. “Comfortable?” I asked him. This was, after all, supposed to be pleasurable for him. 

“Mm-hmm,” Gareth hummed happily.

“Good. Because I owe you two spankings and I have every intention of giving you both of them now. Is that acceptable?”

“Very.” 

“Alright then.” I ran my hand over the firm, toned muscles of the backs of his thighs, then higher, over his ass, before before bringing my palm down sharply. Gareth gasped and bucked against my leg slightly, already painfully hard. I smiled and continued. 

*  *  *  *

Lance spanked me like he had before, firm and steady, just enough for me to feel the sting without it really being painful. My muscles were already relaxed from sleep, but I felt myself relaxing even more, slowly going limp - except for a little squirming - as my world narrowed to the physical sensations. It was delicious being pinned down like this; though being on the couch had been somewhat more comfortable because my torso was supported, this was more helpless and I was enjoying it very much. 

“I’m going to give you twenty harder ones how. Ready?” Asked Lance, as he had before. I nodded and mumbled my assent, sure that Lance could feel my contentment and pleasure along our bond. Then I yelped as he made good on his threat and the next smack landed much harder on my already somewhat sore bottom. 

The blows came faster as well as harder for this part of the spanking, and I writhed and squirmed, but Lance held me still with his leg over the backs of my knees, and a strong hand in the middle of my back. And then it was over and I let out a little breath and relaxed back over his lap. My veins hummed with something more than sexual pleasure now; it was like finishing a hard training session and feeling relaxed and  _ good  _ afterward. I’m sure I made a little noise of pleasure when Lancelot ran a hand gently over my now-smarting ass. I wasn’t at all prepared for what he said next, however: “So, that was one. Now I’m going to give you your second spanking.”

I stiffened in surprise and indignation, but before I could say anything, he asked, “Color?” 

I considered briefly. Another spanking like that one was going to hurt. But on the other hand…“White,” I told him, trying to relax a again. I was still hard, and still enjoying the sensation of Lance holding me down. If this turned out to be too much then all I had to do was say ‘black’ and he would stop. I trusted, him, and I wasn’t quite ready for this to be over. 

It almost  _ was  _ too much, but not quite. Lance returned to his earlier, methodical spanking and I moaned and writhed, instinctively trying to get away from the strikes that, though not terribly hard, were increasingly painful on my tender skin. At one point, I threw one hand back to cover my now burning ass but Lance just caught my wrist and pinned it in the middle of my back, restricting my motion even further. It did something to me, being pinned like this and subjected to the painful humiliation of a spanking; nothing existed but this moment, and it freed something in me. I felt tears well in my eyes, even though the pain itself was still far from what it would take to overwhelm my pleasure. Then Lance said, “We’re almost done. Just the hard ones left. Color?”

I wasn’t sure if I was going to start sobbing, or if I was going to come. Instead, I whimpered, “White.”

*  *  *  *

Gareth yelped at the first harder spank. He actually said “ow” to the following one, and bucked against my grip after that, moaning and trying to writhe away. I’d have worried that I was seriously hurting him, except I could feel his pleasure (both through our bond and his hard cock pressed against my thigh) and the odd, fuzzy quality to his mind that I was coming to associate with how he felt when I was taking care of him - or, for that matter, how I felt when he did things like he had the night before. 

Nonetheless, I was relieved when I reached a count of twenty and could stop. Gareth’s bottom was a bright, painful-looking red, and I didn’t enjoy causing him pain even if he enjoyed it. I rubbed my hand soothingly over his back while he squirmed against me, and I had to bite back a whimper. He wasn’t the only one who was painfully hard.  

I helped him sit up slowly, leaning in to press a kiss to his forehead and murmur the words I knew he wanted to hear, “You’re wonderful, Gareth; so, so good for me.” And then I noticed that he was crying and my stomach dropped like a stone.  _ Dammit I  _ had  _ hurt him. Of course I had, I was hitting him; I was just as much of a monster as my father had been-  _

“No, Lance, you’re not,” Gareth told me, responding aloud to my internal monologue and arresting my downward spiral, at least temporarily. He wiped his face on one of his sleeves and then leaned in to give me a chaste little kiss.  “If I’d asked you to stop, you would have.  I didn’t tell you to stop because I didn’t want you to. I was enjoying it - it feels good to just...let go sometimes.  Like you did for me last night, just in a different way.” 

I was skeptical, but Gareth leaned forward again, putting his head on my shoulder, wrapping his arms around my chest, and settling his knees on either side of my hips so that we were completely pressed together. His sense of contentment swept over me, and I began to relax. I put my arms around him and held him tight, stroking his hair lightly. “As long as you aren’t upset…”

“I feel good,” he assured me, then giggled, “My ass is going to be sore for a while but I feel good…thank you.” 

“That’s all I want,” I said. I didn’t have to understand why it made him feel good, I just needed to hear that it did. 

He nuzzled into the side of my neck and hummed happily. I thought he was going to want to cuddle for a while, but then he pressed our crotches together in a way that indicated a very different intent. “Want to come,” he mumbled, a desperate quality creeping into his tone. It was oddly adorable. 

I smiled a little and asked teasingly, “Oh, and how would you like me to make that happen?”

He sat back long enough to give me a Look, then snuggled back into my shoulder, muttering, “Take me to bed and make love to me. Please.” 

“I think I can manage that,” I murmured, pressing a kiss to the side of his head and picking him up. I loved that I felt good and strong enough to do this, and I was definitely going to take advantage of it as long as possible. 

I laid Gareth down on the bed and made love to him slowly and passionately, leaving possessive bite marks over his collarbones while he mewled and clutched at my back, reduced almost to tears again by the pleasure and intimacy. Afterward, we lay tangled together, our breathing in sync, feeling more like two halves of the same person than ever before. Perhaps I should have been scared by how intertwined our minds and hearts were becoming, but I couldn’t bring myself to care. 

The extent to which we were in sync with each other became clear a while later when we finally got up and I realized that I knew not just how content Gareth was, but that he was thinking we should spend the day with Galahad and Elaine since we were bound to be leaving soon, and because he enjoyed the sense of  _ family  _ he got being around us. It wasn’t that I could ‘hear’ the exact words he was thinking, just that I  _ knew  _ the direction of his thoughts. I sat back down hard. 

“What’s wrong?” asked Gareth, turning to look at me with concern. 

“N-nothing…” He came to stand in front of me, head cocked and arms crossed, so I went on, “Really, nothing is  _ wrong _ , it’s just...You’re thinking about wanting to spend the afternoon with Galahad, Elaine, and I…”

“Y-yes...I am.” He sounded only vaguely surprised. 

“Gareth, it’s not just that I know what you’re  _ feeling _ \- I can tell what you’re  _ thinking _ .”

“In detail?” he asked, smirking a bit. 

“No. At least...not yet.” The emotion-sensing had started off weak too; now, if I focused, I could tell exactly what Gareth was feeling as long as he was in shouting distance. 

Gareth sat down beside me slowly, a thoughtful expression on his face. “Come to think of it...I could tell what you were thinking earlier. When you panicked because I was crying. I didn't think anything of it at the time, but...I could definitely tell what you were thinking as well as what you were feeling.”

“Well fuck…” I muttered. 

*  *  *  * 

Lancelot was quiet for a long time after that. I let him be, knowing he needed a chance to process this revelation and figure out how he felt about it. The current tangle of emotions in his chest was enough to give _ me  _ a headache, so I focused on washing my face, getting dressed, and laying out clothes for Lance. I was pleasantly sore from the morning’s activities - both the spanking and the sex - but I was getting the inklings of an idea for how I would like to spend the day, and it was going to involve riding. So I put on my most comfortable pair of leather breeches - old, much-abused, very soft ones - and my cavalry boots, as well as a simple linen shirt and the new red quilted doublet that I knew Lance had taken a shine to. By the time I was done combing my hair into some semblance of order, Lancelot seemed to have gotten himself together enough to return to our earlier conversation.  

“So...you want to do something with Elaine and Galahad today?” he asked me.

“I was thinking a picnic. Maybe take a couple of the practice swords in case Galahad wants to use them. Spend the day away from the villa...Of course, only if you think they’d like to…” 

He smiled at me, the kind of smile that suffused his face with rare warmth and made the corners of his eyes crinkle delightfully. “I think they would both love that.”

I waited by the door while Lance dressed, watching him admiringly. He shot me a pointed glance as he laced his doublet, but I just smiled back shamelessly. I liked admiring him and he was just going to have to deal with it. Then we went to find Elaine. 

She was in the study with Galahad for his morning lessons, and we paused briefly outside the door, listening to the calm rise and fall of voices going over Latin verb conjugations. Lance and I shared a smile, both recalling evenings and early mornings spent similarly when I was a squire. The pages were taught basic reading and writing, as well as figuring, but I had been terribly behind since, unlike my peers, I had no experience with it at all. So once I became Lance’s squire, he took it upon himself to teach me the Latin that I had never gotten around to learning as a squire, my tutors too focused on getting me caught up with the others in basic proficiency in the local dialect. Besides, no one had thought that little peasant-born me would need  _ Latin _ . I had been stunned that someone like Lancelot would take the time to teach me personally, and responded by learning it as well and as quickly as I could. 

“Do you think they’ll mind us interrupting?” I whispered to Lance, nodding at the door.

“Doubt it. Elaine knows how rarely I’m here. And Galahad is a serious student the rest of the time.”

“Good.” So saying, I knocked lightly. The door was opened a moment later by Galahad himself, whose face utterly lit up when he saw us. 

“Good morning Galahad, Elaine,” said Lance, smiling back, “Gareth and I were wondering you two would be interested in a picnic today.” 

“Oh yes please!” exclaimed Galahad, before turning to look at his mother and ask imploringly, “Oh can we? Please?”

“Of course we can,” laughed Elaine, and the way she smiled made me see how a man could easily fall in love with her. 

It was a beautiful day; the horses were in high spirits and I laughed a little when Equinox tried half-heartedly to buck Lance off. They seemed to be slowly coming to an understanding of who was in charge. When I pointed this out, my lover merely cast me a baleful look that made Elaine laugh. 

We rode out in a different direction than on the day Lance and I had our picnic, and after nearly an hour we reached a lovely little glade by a pond, with pine trees around one side. Elaine and I spread out blankets at the water’s edge, on the springy ground under the trees, while Galahad and Lancelot unsaddled the horses and settled them in. We then proceeded to spend one of the loveliest afternoons I could remember, and, just as I had at dinner a few days earlier, I felt the sense of  _ family _ that was so rare in my life.

Elaine started to set out food for lunch, but, before she could call us together to eat, a pinecone bounced off the back of my head, followed by a giggle. I turned around slowly, fixing a mock stern look on my face. “Who threw that?” Galahad, still giggling, pointed at Lance, who raised his hands in the universal gesture of innocence. It wasn’t entirely convincing. 

I cast about for the wooden practice swords we had brought along, and snatched one up as I got to my feet. Facing Lance, sword in hand, I asked again, “Did you just throw that at me?” But by now I couldn’t resist the urge to smile, the lightheartedness of the moment getting to me and stealing any threat from my words or posture, in spite of the weapon I held. 

“Now why would you accuse me of a thing like that?” I gave him a Look and he visible suppressed a laugh, eyes dancing and smile lines deepening. My heart stuttered at how beautiful he was when he was happy like this. “Come, at least give me a fair chance,” he complained good-humoredly, nodding at the other two wooden swords. I tossed him one and Galahad laughed with delight at how easily Lancelot caught it. It was, admittedly, a move we had practiced many times, as it had its uses in some of the situations we occasionally found ourselves in. 

I glanced over at Galahad and asked pointedly but still in a teasing tone, “So, who’s side are you on anyway?” He scrambled to pick up the remaining practice sword - the only one in his size - and take up a ready stance beside me. 

Lance made an unimpressed face and muttered, “Traitor.” But even Elaine laughed at the amusement that bled through in his tone. 

“Just don’t step on the blanket!” she admonished us as I lunged forward and Lance brought his sword up to block. 

After a minute or two, I switched the sword into the off-hand to even the odds since it was two against one and I wanted Lance to have a fighting chance. I also wanted to force Galahad to work at this a bit; it was a good chance for him to properly practice some of the things he had learned. In fact, I even gave him advice, and I could tell that Lance was only narrowly refraining from doing the same. My earlier impression that Galahad was naturally talented - not just at the act of swordplay itself, but the strategy necessary to make it work in a real fight - was reinforced again. Lance didn’t go too easy on us, but it was clear that he was being careful not to risk hurting Galahad. In point of fact, it was rather irresponsible to be doing this without any protective gear to speak of. 

After several very energetic minutes, Galahad tired somewhat and went over to sprawl on the blanket beside his mother and watch Lance and I. I switched back to my dominant hand and the pace of our sparring picked up somewhat while our two companions cheered us on, clapping at particularly impressive-looking moves. It felt like our sparring match yesterday, except even more light-hearted, neither of us making any effort to win, just working through a series of increasingly complicated motions until Lance actually managed to disarm me we an unexpected twist of his wrist.  Instead of giving up or at least stepping back, I lunged  _ forward _ , stepping around in an effort to upset his balance. Against most opponents, this movement was so surprising that it worked beautifully. However, Lancelot had taught me this himself, spending hours training out of me the perfectly logical instinct to move  _ away _ from the an armed opponent when you yourself were unarmed. So he was not caught entirely off guard, and turned with my momentum in order to keep his feet. I had anticipated that, however, and got my foot behind his ankle, sending us both tumbling to the ground. I landed half under him and wiggled away quickly by planting a foot firmly against his hip for leverage. I noticed distantly that my shoulder ached somewhat from falling on it, but ignored it in favor of scrambling for my dropped sword, I picked it up just as Lance recovered his feet. 

We clashed once more, wood thwacking loudly against wood until suddenly I feinted left, swung the sword to the right instead, and unexpectedly got past Lance’s guard. I pulled up but not quite quickly enough, and winced along with Lance when the heavy practice sword made contact with his ribs. Lancelot grimaced and stepped back, lowering his sword and holding up his other hand to gesture for a pause. 

“Sorry,” I said quickly, reaching out somewhat futilely to see if he was alright. 

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” muttered my lover, rubbing his ribs gently, “God knows I did worse to you when you were a squire.”

I silently conceded that point as Elaine spoke up, “Alright, that’s enough for now you two. Come have lunch before someone gets hurt.” 

We did as we were bid, laying aside the swords and settling down on the blanket. I couldn’t help but notice that Lance was moving rather gingerly. Elaine passed out slices of fresh bread, ripe cheese, leftover cuts of meat from the night before, and scones with dried berries in them. There was watered wine as well and we dug in hungrily, Lance and I especially since we had never actually gotten around to having breakfast. 

“Are you sure you’re alright, Lancelot?” enquired Elaine half way through  our meal after Lance touched his side for the second or third time. 

“Fine, fine,” he muttered, looking vaguely embarrassed, “Just bruised. You’d think by now we’d know better than to spar without armor on - even just in good fun.”

“Well, as you said, I survived much worse as a squire and I’m no worse off for it,” I pointed out, nudging him gently with my knee so that he would know I was just teasing, and ignoring the fact that my shoulder was still sore as well. Training could be dangerous, and Lancelot had trained me hard. He was careful, but careful only got you so far, and I’d had my fair share of bad bruises and even a couple of broken bones over the years. Then again, I’d laid Lance out on one or two memorable occasions as well. There were no hard feelings then, nor were there now. 

“How  _ did  _ you become his squire?” Galahad asked me eagerly, seeming not at all bothered by the fact that one of us had been hurt (albeit mildly) in our little game. Then to Lancelot, “Did you choose Gareth?”

“I did,” said Lance around a mouthful of bread and cheese. 

“But how? I mean, what made you pick him?”  

I glanced sideways at Lancelot, curious in spite of myself. I’d never asked Lance about this, though I’d be lying if I said I’d never wondered. In fact, I’d wondered a great deal, especially at first. I was a nobody, and Lancelot was the greatest Knight in the realm, but somehow I had ended up as his squire - his only squire. Lance was quiet for a moment, a thoughtful look on his face, then said slowly, “It’s...the short answer to that is that I was impressed by him and wanted to make sure he got the training he deserved.”

Galahad, already done eating, laid down on his stomach, propped his chin in his hands, and asked expectantly, “And the long answer? I mean, how did you meet? Did Gareth’s parents bring him to Court?” Clearly he wanted to hear a story, and, to my surprise, Lancelot obliged. 

*  *  *  * 

I folded my legs under me, trying to find a comfortable way to sit on the blanket while my ribs still throbbed dully. I was going to have an impressive bruise later, I could tell. I wasn’t entirely sure how to tell this story because I so rarely told personal stories. But Galahad’s innocent enthusiasm was touching, and I could tell by Gareth’s emotions that he wanted to hear it as well to appease his own burning curiosity on the matter. I blew out a slow breath and began in the simplest way I could, “I suppose...in some ways, this story starts when I first met Gareth - when he was your age, Galahad.” 

I described how Arthur and I had been walking through a little village when Gareth had run into us (quite literally), and how his earnestness had struck us both, encouraging Arthur to take him on as a page. “Pages in Camelot are given basic weapons training and other lessons, and at first Gareth was terribly behind. Most pages are noble and have some training before they become a page. Gareth was commoner, so he didn’t. And…” my eyes slid sideways to Gareth; he was watching me avidly. “Well, I was very impressed by how hard he worked to catch up. It wasn't easy for him, and he was teased by many of the other boys. But he stuck with it; he had been serious when he told Arthur and I that he wanted to grow up to be a knight, and he was very very dedicated to that. Which I liked. He was also talented, which helped; he caught up quickly with the sword work. In fact, Gareth is a rare talent. But it wasn’t just that. I, umm…” I paused, licked my lips, and considered. This was the part of the story that I wasn’t sure how to tell. “As far as I recall, Gareth only got in trouble once while he was a page, which in and of itself is not something I cared about, but it was the  _ reason  _ that he got in trouble that...struck me. You see, the one and only time that Gareth got in trouble was when he got caught fighting to protect another, younger page from a squire who were hurting him.”

“Oh gods, I remember this…” groaned Gareth, sinking his head into his hands, but he was laughing a bit.

“What? It’s a flattering story about you,” I admonished, and then proceeded to tell it. 

I had been on my way out to the salle one evening and come across a fellow knight (not a Knight of the Round Table, a knight who had inherited the title from his father) berating Gareth for starting a fight with his squire. Which hadn’t sounded at all right to me, although I knew the squire in question had been bullying Gareth since Gareth’s arrival in Camelot three years earlier. Well, as it turned out, I was correct in thinking that something else was going on here. Gareth had indeed hit this knight’s squire, but it was because the squire had been threatening one of the newest pages, a shy little boy whose family, though technically noble, were quite poor and from a very far-flung, rural part of the country; he was nearly as out of place in Camelot as Gareth was. It had taken nerve for Gareth to explain that, with the knight glaring down at him and exclaiming about how his squire was the son of a duke and wouldn’t do such a thing and who was this upstart little commoner to make such accusations.  I had just stood there and marveled at the fact that this undersized, painfully shy, eleven year old  _ serf  _ naturally embodied more nobility and more of the traits that Arthur wanted his knights to embody, than a child of one of the oldest families in the realm. Gareth had stood up for someone weaker than yourself, even in the face of someone who was bigger, stronger, more well-connected, and who often targeted him. And he did all this thinking he was going to be punished for it. 

“So,” I concluded, “I decided then and there that I wanted Gareth to be my squire once he was old enough.” 

“That’s very sweet,” said Elaine, and seemed to genuinely mean it, smiling at us with a warm and vaguely maternal look in her eyes. “So, Lance, how did you tell Gareth that he was going to be your squire?”

We glanced at each other and both laughed. “Oh, gods…” I sighed, at the same time as Gareth said, “Badly.” 

“It was not that bad, I’m just...not good at that sort of thing,” I protested.

“What you mean is you had no idea how to go about telling me so you just  _ didn’t _ ,” my former-squire shot back, still laughing. 

“I...you...No actually I can’t argue with that. You’re entirely right,” I admitted.

“What did you  _ do? _ ” asked Elaine, looking between us with genuine interest (and confusion) now. 

“Well…” began Gareth, “Technically a page can become a squire at any time once they meet certain requirements - at least twelve years old and at least four years as a page. The numbers are somewhat arbitrary but as far as I know Arthur wanted to make sure that all pages had had a chance to acquire a basic skill set before they became squires and might actually really need that skillset. Squires get dragged into war zones, for example, so it’s a bit more serious than being page. But. Traditionally in Camelot any pages selected to be squires are formally made squires on May Day. Not everyone, but most. There’s a nice little ceremony and pages who know they have been selected by a knight, or who think they may have been talk about it a lot; sometimes their families come if they don’t already live in Camelot. That sort of thing. It’s nice, actually. Well, the year that I was 12 was also the my fourth year as a squire-”

“You were the youngest page who qualified to be a squire,” interjected Galahad, and Gareth smiled and nodded. 

“Very good. Yes, I was. But at the time I didn’t think anyone  _ wanted  _ me as their squire. No knight had taken a particular interest in me, other than Gawain who had younger brothers to be his squires. Besides, as the Prince he couldn’t show that kind of favoritism. I wasn’t noble and I was very young, so it seemed highly unlikely that I would become a squire that year - or possibly ever. 

“So the ceremony starts and it’s really just Cei getting up before dinner and announcing which knights have chosen squires and calling those pages up to meet the knights formally. It’s a small thing at the start of the May Day feast but it means a lot to the pages, and generally we all knew more or less who who was going to be chosen before hand. There’s always some uncertainty for a few, but I sure as hell knew that I  _ wasn’t  _ going to be one…” Gareth trailed off and three pairs of accusing eyes turned to me.

I shrugged, chagrined, and picked up the thread of the story. “I couldn’t think of a good way to tell you - and in my defense that is partly because I was busy nearly all day every day with Arthur! So I just...mentioned to him that I wanted to take you on as my squire and he…”

“Announced it at the end of the ceremony that May Day,” finished Gareth, “I’d never been so shocked in my life.”

“Most other people were shocked too,” I admitted, “I’d never taken a squire and had make it fairly clear that I never intended to. Gareth was just....” I glanced at him, not sure that there was a word for what Gareth was. 

“Special,” Elaine proffered, and I nodded my agreement. 

“Very, very special.” 

*  *  *  *

Galahad seemed to find the story highly amusing, and Lancelot and I entertained him for a while with other, lighter stories about my time as a squire. We avoided talking about the war that had dominated most of those years, and the special training that Lance had given me, but shared amusing tales of drama at Camelot and some of the misadventures of other knights and squires, especially ones that had led to Lance or I having to get involved to prevent those ‘misadventures’ from turning into genuine problems for the King. I had never talked about my time as a squire like that, and it was rather fun. 

It was a thoroughly enjoyable afternoon, and I laughed more than I had in a long time when Lancelot described the incidents and their protagonists with an eyeroll and dry sarcasm. It made my time as a squire sound rather more idyllic than it had been, but that was alright with me. 

After a time, Galahad grew bored of sitting, so he and I returned to our earlier swordplay while Lance chose instead to lounge on the blanket with Elaine and watch us. I could only hear snippets of their conversation, but Lance’s emotions told me most of what I wanted to know. He was profoundly content, and a little sad that our time here would soon be coming to an end. I sensed his pleasure and pride at watching Galahad and I interact, and cast him a quick grin over my shoulder. 

Like me, however, Lancelot was growing increasingly anxious to return to Camelot; he worried about being away for so long. When we returned to our rooms late that evening, I could tell that he wanted to bring it up, but did not want to ruin the staggeringly good mood we were both in, so I saved him the trouble by saying, “I know you want to go back to Camelot soon; so do I. It’s been lovely here, but it’s time to go back.”

His relief would have been palpable even without our emotional bond. I smiled gently at him and gave him a hug which he returned firmly, holding me close. I sighed happily and rested my head against his shoulder, perfectly content to stay like that for a good long while. 

After a few moments, Lance said, “You’re right of course, but let’s discuss it tomorrow. We can leave the following day or the day after that. For tonight let’s just...not think about it.”

“Mmm,” I hummed my agreement, then asked, “So what should we think about instead?” 

To my vague surprise, he responded immediately, “You felt very strongly about that story I told earlier about deciding that I wanted you to be my squire. I...Well, I was wondering how you remembered that incident?”

I laughed breathlessly. “Oh gods...very differently than you do…” I thought for a moment, then said, “Let’s lie down and I’ll see if I can... _ show  _ you my memory of it. And maybe we can see how far this knowing-each-other’s-thoughts thing goes.”

Lance agreed, curious, and we changed out of our riding clothes. I tossed a blanket and a couple of pillows down in front of the fireplace and laid down, waiting for Lance to join me. He did after a moment, and we took our time settling into a comfortable position, which resulted in Lance lying on his back with me facedown on top of him. I worried that I would hurt his ribs (which were indeed badly bruised) but he quickly assured me otherwise, sliding his arms around my waist and his hands under my shirt and pulling me close. It was lovely to be held like this and I had to resist the urge to just nuzzle into his chest and go to sleep. 

With the skin-to-skin contact our bond became notably stronger. Lance’s emotions swelled within me, as did his curiosity about my memories.  _ I  _ was curious whether or not I could share those memories with him the way in which I hoped to. I closed my eyes and breathed slowly, letting Lance’s steady heartbeat lull me, then I called to mind the incident in question; I could still remember it like it was yesterday. 

I had seen Rience, a squire who had tormented me since my arrival in Camelot, corner Percival, a fellow page, after our lessons. Rience had long gotten away with his poor behavior because his father was a duke, as was the knight he served. And I had had enough. Percival was the newest page, just seven years old and painfully shy because he came from a small backwater barony. He was also small and effeminate; which painted a target on him. (A few of us had learned later that Percy had been born a girl, and he had soon become one of the most talented squires, easily able to defend himself; but that first year that he was in Camelot he had been shy and scared - and the closest to a peer that I had as far as being out of place. )

With a little sigh, I opened my mouth to begin to articulate some of this, but Lance stopped me with a gentle squeeze to the back of my neck. He was following the memory as I relived it. A little thrill went through me at that, and at the realization that our bond had grown so strong that I did indeed know what he was thinking, at least in broad strokes. This was precisely what I had hoped, but it seemed a bit too good to be true. (A bit frightening as well, on some level, but for the time being I set that aside.) Lancelot laughed at me silently and gave me a little mental nudge to go on with the story. 

_ I had not the faintest idea how to go about stopping Rience from harassing Percival, but I knew that I wanted to do it. I couldn’t stand the way he got away with abusing everyone who he perceived as below him, and though I knew he could make my life hell, the fear in Percival’s face was all the galvanization that I needed. At first I simply put myself between them, pushing at Percival and telling him to  _ run dammit _. But Rience had laughed at me, mocking, and grabbed Percival's arm as he tried to move away, throwing him to the ground. For the first time in my life, I had seen red, and lashed out before I had fully considered the consequence of that action.  _

I could sense Lancelot’s mild amusement at that, but it was mostly subsumed by his pride and pleasure; he was unsurprised that the defense of my comrade was what had finally moved me to confront my tormentor, but it pleased him all the same. 

_ I was not yet particularly well trained, but I had the advantage of surprise, anger, and more natural talent than Rience would ever hope to possess. Rience was clearly stunned that I had dared hit him, and that I avoided his immediate retaliation. At that point, rather than actually fight me, he took off running to seek out his knight and get me in trouble.  _

_ Coward _ , thought Lance with a little mental grumble of discontent. My amusement bled along our bond in response. 

_ Rience and his knight caught up to me outside of the main hall shortly thereafter, and I knew immediately that I this was going to end very badly for me. The knight grabbed my arm and started yelling, first about ‘how dare I attack his squire’ and then quickly devolving into how he was going to get me kicked out, how I had never belonged there in the first place, and so on.  _ I felt my lover’s anger just at the memory of the suggestion.  _ It was at this moment that Lancelot had arrived on the scene. I recalled him in that moment as little more than a dark shape and a swirl of red cloak, but I knew who he was and I was  _ mortified. 

_ Lancelot, to my surprise, had glared at the knight until he let go of my arm and stepped back, then demanded an explanation. What surprised me more was that he did not seem to accept the knight’s (essentially honest) explanation that I had started a fight with his squire. Then Lancelot had turned to me and asked for my version and I was terrified.  _

_ You were adorable _ , he thought at me now. I huffed a little, but then sucked in a sharp breath as Lancelot’s feelings and memories of that moment hit me.  _ Lancelot could easily see how terrified I was, a page standing up to a duke and the son of a duke. But I raised my chin, looked him straight in the eye, and told him what he knew instinctively to be the truth - shaking voice and all. He was  _ so proud  _ of me in that moment, the boy he had first met three years earlier whose pluck had impressed the King enough to be taken on as a page. Lancelot was proud that I had grown into someone of integrity and courage and he had indeed decided there and then that he wanted me as his squire - because he saw in me everything Arthur looked for in his Knights of the Round Table, and which was so rare to find.  _

I sniffled a little and pressed closer to Lance’s warm body, touched by the strength of his emotions. 

“Is that when you started to love me?” I mumbled sleepily, the question a bit too complicated communicate nonverbally, since our bond was still most effective for emotions and images.

“No, not exactly. I...that’s a story for another time,” he murmured, stroking my hair absent-mindedly, but I got the distinct impression of  _ fear-pride-relief  _ and an image of myself as a squire, bloody and semi-conscious. I thought I recalled that moment, when my quick reactions had quite possibly saved the King’s life. Naturally  _ that  _ would be formative in Lance’s view of me. He sensed my mild amusement and sent back a little good-natured mental grumble.

“Would you...mind sharing the night that you became my squire?” Lance asked aloud. Along our bond he felt sleepy and curious and immensely content. 

I grinned happily into his shoulder. “I’d love to.” 

_ The May Day celebrations were among my favorites as they included the first tournament of the year as well as a lovely feast, and heralded the arrival of summer and fair weather. The other pages preferred it largely because of the announcements of who would become a squire. The hall was crowded with people and decorated with garlands and banners, adding to the festive air. When Cei stepped up to the front of the room, the pages’ table was the first to fall silent. I paid relatively little attention to the five announcements that followed. Four were expected and indeed had been settled for some time. One was mildly interesting. And that should have been that. Those of us who were serving that evening started to get up to go get trays from the kitchen, but stopped when the King suddenly rose from his seat at the High Table to say that he was proud to announce that this year his Champion was also taking a squire. A curious murmur went through the hall while Lance suppressed a wince of embarrassment.  _

I lost the thread of the memory for a moment at the realization that Lance and I were actually  _ sharing  _ the memory now - I had certainly not known at the time that Lance was embarrassed to suddenly be the center of attention. Beneath me, he shrugged a little and gradually I recalled what I had been thinking about. 

_ The pages had all waited with bated breath and excited glances at each other. A few of the older squires (and the more arrogant ones) sat up a bit straighter, expecting their names to be called. Instead, Arthur had looked straight at me and said  _ my  _ name and it felt like the whole world had stopped. Part of me was sure it was a mistake, and part was mortified to be singled out like this. But mostly I had felt a sort of incandescent joy well up in my chest.  _ I could feel it again now, the same emotion that sometimes overwhelmed me when it really hit me that Lance loved me and was all mine. Lancelot’s arms tightened around me as he registered that. I sighed happily and melted against him. This was by far the most intimate thing we had ever done and it was staggering and overwhelming in the best way possible.  __

_ It had taken me an embarrassingly long few moments to realize I was supposed to go stand with the other new squires. I was sure I looked comical beside the other five, all of who were at least two years older than me.  _

I got a flash of Lance’s perspective, watching me stand there, small and shy.  _ Some of the other knights gave him stunned glances; a few people throughout the room chuckled. But not for a moment did he doubt his decision, only wishing that I would look up at him so he could give me an encouraging smile.  _ I loved Lance a little more in that moment, which I had not known was possible. 

“You never did look up.”

“No. I was...too stunned. I thought it must be a mistake.”

“Never.” 

“Mmm,” I hummed and blinked slowly, trying to pull myself back into the present. 

It took me a long time to coordinate my limbs enough to sit up. Lance and I could both still feel each others emotions and thoughts flowing back and forth along the bond; I realized slowly, as did he, just how intertwined we had become when shared those memories. We mutually decided that it wasn’t a bad thing, but each nonetheless made an effort to disconnect a bit until the boundaries between where my thoughts and emotions ended and his began became a little clearer again. I was hit a moment later with exhaustion - not physical but mental, as if I had just spent an hour pouring over a particularly taxing mathematical problem. 

Lance shifted a bit and glanced out the window. It was now fully dark. “It’s later than I realized,” he commented. It was indeed; it had taken a surprisingly long time to share those two memories. I looked back at Lance, where he was still sprawled on the blanket by the fire in an old pair of  grey pants and a white shirt that was unlaced - just the right mix of hard and soft, strong and vulnerable.

“You look...fucking amazing,” I said. 

He flushed a little in embarrassment; he could no longer doubt that I found him attractive, but that had not entirely alleviated his occasional self-consciousness or confusion. But he smiled up at me, a little shy and very sweet. “Well you did say something a few days ago about wanting to make love by the fire…”

“Yes, I did, but…” I crawled back over him and laid down again, “I’d actually rather like to just cuddle, if that’s alright with you?” The day had been surprisingly emotionally taxing, and in that moment nothing sounded nicer than Lance’s arms around me and his body next to mine. 

“Of course it is.”  

*  *  *  *

Gareth’s memories of some of our earliest encounters were...enlightening. And as he drifted off to sleep on my chest I turned them over in my mind. I was beginning to understand why he sometimes looked at me with wonder in his eyes; to him I was so much more than just another knight who happened to be older and more influential. Maybe that should have made me uncomfortable but it didn’t because I knew first-hand that Gareth’s affection for me was genuine, and had not morphed into it’s current form until well after he had ceased being my squire. It was still a bit overwhelming to see how much I had meant to him for how long, albeit in very different ways. 

Feeling suddenly immensely protective of my lover, I held him a little tighter. We would soon return to Camelot - we both needed to - and I still had my concerns about what would happen there; most people would not accept our relationship if they discovered it - but I no longer feared Gareth deciding to leave me. I was actually a little surprised to realize that that no longer concerned me at all. Our time here had been good for us, perhaps even necessary. I doubted that anything could tear us apart now, and that settled something deep within me. It was as if I had been standing on peat and suddenly felt hard stone beneath my feet. With that happy thought, and Gareth’s sense of immense contentment hovering at the edge of my awareness, I drifted off to sleep. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last full chapter of Part III. An epilogue will follow (fairly shortly unless something strange happens), and then on to Part IV and Real Plot again. In fact, I’m very much looking forward to Part IV : )


	14. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lancelot and Gareth come home to Camelot, and life is starting to look up all around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end of Part III; however, I have several more parts planned (in fact, I have at least four parts planned in some detail). 
> 
> With that said, the next few weeks of my life aren't going to allow for much time for writing. Realistically, it may be around the holidays before I get the beginning of Part IV posted. I have not disappeared, real life is just interfering more than usual for a while. As such, I have tried to end this on a happy note (and absolutely no cliffhangers, so no one will feel compelled to track me down and murder me in my sleep (enough of my characters already want to do that, thanks very much) ; )
> 
> Enjoy!

We stayed two more days at the villa, devoting a great deal of time to Elaine and Galahad. I adored watching Gareth interact with Galahad, and I put aside my instinctive reaction (a feeling of vague regret that Gareth would never be a father) and tried to simply enjoy it. I also pulled Elaine aside briefly and asked if she intended to allow Galahad to come to Camelot to be a page and be trained as a knight. For a moment she pressed her lips together as if in displeasure, but then she nodded slowly and told me that if Galahad wanted to in a year or so then she would permit it. I counted that as a victory and assured her that if Galahad came to Camelot he would have both Gareth and I to look after him.

 

Galahad was terribly sad to see us go, and I was sad to leave him, but once we were on the road a weight lifted off my chest. It was good to be going home to Camelot. We left early enough in the morning to make the trip in a single day, arriving just as the sun was slipping beneath the horizon. The guards at the gate to the castle proper recognized me and greeted us both with salutes, waving us through with no comment. 

Cei, with typically serendipitous timing, happened to be passing through the courtyard when we rode in. He paused and watched, eyeing Gareth’s mount closely. I couldn’t help but smirk a bit, still immensely pleased that I had convinced my lover to accept Xyphos as his  new warhorse as part of his birthday gift. Gareths’ previous warhorse, who had served him well for so long, had been granted a well-deserved retirement in a pasture at my estate, and Galahad had been giving permission to exercise him. Galahad had been thrilled at the prospect of being allowed to ride a proper warhorse.  _ And  _ now I got to witness the envy in Cei’s eyes when he saw Xiphos, which pleased some base part of me. 

“Nice of you two to finally show up,” he said with his usual caustic sarcasm, but I knew him well enough to ignore the tone, though I did respond in kind, as was our habit.

“Nice of you to wait up for us.” There were a number of people who thought that Cei and I did not get along because our banter was often cutting; Cei was abrasive and I generally gave as good as I got. Besides, most courtiers assumed that Cei and I were competing for power in Arthur’s inner circle, which was patently not the case. The reality was that we got on just fine, in our own slightly off-beat way. It was nice to have someone who did not care if I snapped at him, and whose tone I never had to analyze for hiding meaning. If Cei had something to say, he generally said it (though often in private if it was not an incisive remark). 

Cei’s eyes had returned to Xiphos, and he asked with his usual directness, “How in God’s name did you afford one of Lancelot’s warhorses?”

Beside me Gareth bridled a bit and I glared at Cei, “Fuck off. You’re just jealous. And, for the record, it was a birthday gift. I figured Gareth had earned it after everything he did to rescue the Queen.”

Cei looked appropriately chagrined, though only for a moment, and I felt a surge of affection from Gareth. “Well,” said the seneschal, “You’ve missed dinner, but I’m sure the King and Queen will want to see you; they’ll be glad to hear that you’re back.”

I swung out of the saddle and handed Equinox off with a warning to the waiting stableboy that the horse was new and still somewhat unpredictable. My other warhorse was in an especially bad temper after being  _ led  _ the whole way back, even though he’d earned the break. A second, more seasoned stable hand edged around carefully to deal with him. I watched them head off before turning back to Cei; anyone who relied on their mount as part of their profession looked after the animals well, and if they didn’t then they weren’t worth their salt. 

“If you’ll tell us where Arthur is, we’ll go see him immediately.”

“The  _ King _ is in his study,” Cei informed me somewhat primly. It was always hard for me to remember that we weren’t actually supposed to refer to Arthur by his first name in public; I always had done so regardless. 

I nodded my thanks and waited for Gareth to finish saying goodbye to Xiphos; then we made our way into the castle itself. It was odd to be back, so much larger and grander than my villa. Nonetheless, something settled within me. Although I was King in Gaul, and loved my lands here in Britain, Camelot had slowly become  _ home _ and I felt like I belonged here. Gareth felt much the same, and I suddenly had to resist the urge to reach out and take his hand as we walked. I suppressed a sigh; we were going to have to be much more careful here than at the villa. 

*  *  *  *

It still felt somewhat odd to me to walk essentially uninvited into the royal suite, but the guards nodded us through and of course this was where Lancelot  _ lived  _ so I quashed my awkwardness and followed him in. We could hear Arthur and Guinevere’s voices coming from their room, and Lancelot went over and opened the door cautiously without even knocking. 

“Good evening,” he said with a smile, sticking his head into the room. 

“Lance!” exclaimed Arthur; a moment later, the door opened fully and the King embraced his friend enthusiastically, saying how good it was to have him back. I watched, smiling, but was then profoundly startled when Guinevere came over and gave  _ me  _ a warm hug. 

“It’s good to see you again, Gareth,” she murmured into my ear before stepping back and smiling at me, looking me up and down, “You look better. The last couple weeks have obviously been good for you.”

I blushed even though I knew she was likely just referring to the fact that the last time she had seen me I had been recovering from a nearly-fatal injury and very rough few days. Seeing my blush, she smiled knowingly at me before going and greeting Lancelot the same way she had greeted me. “Well, you no longer look like death warmed over, so I take it you had a good couple of weeks.” It wasn’t quite a question, so Lance just laughed a little and shrugged, not denying it. 

“Come, let’s sit in the study and catch up,” suggested Arthur.

“Has anything happened here?” asked Lancelot, looking vaguely concerned.

“Nothing for you to worry about,” the King said, clapping his friend on the back, “I want to hear how Galahad is, and how you two managed to keep yourselves occupied for two whole weeks. I half expected to see you back here a week ago!”

“Sorry,” muttered Lance, “We were just...I think we both needed the rest. And I hadn’t been back to the villa in nearly a year; there were some things I needed to deal with. I-”

“Lance!” laughed Arthur, “I was joking. I’m glad you enjoyed yourselves.” 

We settled down in the study and talked late into the night over a late supper that Arthur sent for so that Lancelot and I could eat. There had been some minor political dramas in Camelot by the sound of it, including the arrival of a duke from the west who had long been something of a thorn in Arthur’s side. In general though, there seemed to be nothing to worry about, which was a nice change of pace. The King was, as Lancelot had predicted, bloody furious about one of the tax collectors skimming off the top, and I was sure that Cei and any number of others were soon going to find themselves with extra work making sure the problem was an isolated one. 

Long after midnight, Guinevere yawned and stood up. “Alright, Arthur, let’s let them get some sleep; they’ve had a long day.” For a moment, the King looked like he was going to protest, then thought better of it and waved Lance and I out of the room with a friendly “good night.” 

We retreated to Lance’s chambers on the other side of the main room and collapsed into bed together. I had half a mind to ask Lancelot if he had any ideas about how I could stay with him more often without arousing suspicions, but was asleep before I could form the words. 

 

The following evening, Arthur insisted Lancelot and I attend dinner with the Court. I grumbled about it privately to Lance (I would never grumble to the King) because I was looking forward to a quiet dinner after a decidedly unquiet day. Between rescuing the Queen and then escaping to Lancelot’s villa, he and I had not been in Camelot for over a month, and there was a great deal of catching up to do with our comrades (and others) who were curious to hear about our exploits first hand. It was exhausting. Nonetheless, per the King’s request, we both made ourselves presentable and went to dinner. 

Lancelot sat at the High Table beside Arthur, and I took my usual seat with Orkney twins, Gaheris and Geraint. I had already spoken with them earlier, so at least I was spared an immediate interrogation about my past few weeks. Instead, we were just beginning to chat about their adventures helping Bedwyr train the squires, when the King rose and the hall fell silent save for a quiet murmur of curiosity. The twins and I shared a glance and a shrug as if to say  _ Do you know what this is about? No? Well, neither do I.  _ Oddly, I sensed from Lancelot that  _ he  _ did know what this was about, and was quite gleeful about it. 

“As I’m sure you are all well aware by now,” began the King in a voice that carried easily to every corner of the hall, “It is due to the heroics of several of our Knights that the Queen is safely among us. We have Sir Gareth to thank in particular, and now that he is returned to Camelot I intend to honor him properly.” I closed my eyes for a moment in suppressed horror at being singled out like this.  _ I was just doing my job!  _ I wanted to protest, but instead I sat quietly and tried not to blush too profoundly. Arthur went on, “Indeed, saving the Queen is hardly the only service that Sir Gareth has performed for the Crown during his years as a Knight, and even before. He is one of the youngest Knights of the Round Table for good reason.” 

I fought down the urge to wince. There were plenty of people who disliked that particular accomplishment of mine, because the actions which had earned me such high status so early in my time as a knight were not - could not be - common knowledge. Though I knew the King was trying to thank me, I couldn’t help but think that he really wasn’t doing me any favors by bringing all this up again. 

“Sir Gareth, come up here for a moment please.” 

Schooling my face carefully into a vaguely pleasant expression, I rose and went to stand before the High Table, my back to the hall, and bowed deeply. As Arthur continued to speak, I noticed that Cei was not in his usual place at the table, but rather standing off to one side, holding something. “As Sir Lancelot’s protoge, you have a considerably better understanding than most of what it takes to be King’s Champion; and while that position will continue to be filled by Lancelot himself for some time, I ask that you accept the position of Queen’s Champion.” 

I blinked and stared up at Arthur blankly, feeling nearly as stunned as I had some 12 years previously when I had unexpectedly become Lancelot’s squire. Luckily, no response was required of me immediately, for there was a pause while Cei stepped forward and I realized that he held a cloak - the red of Arthur’s Knights of the Round Table, but this one trimmed in grey much as Lancelot’s was trimmed in black and Arthur’s trimmed in gold. 

‘Go on’ mouthed Guinevere as Lancelot gave me a little mental nudge and I realized I had been silent for a beat too long. “I-” I began, then swallowed around the lump in my throat and tried again, “I would be honored, Your Majesties.” Guinevere beamed at me and Arthur smiled warmly, while Lancelot managed to keep his expression relatively neutral. However I could feel his pride and joy bubbling up inside him, thrumming along our bond. 

Cei helped me exchange my current plain cloak for the new one, and I bowed once more before making to return to my seat, but Cei caught my arm and nodded instead to an empty place beside Guinevere at the High Table. “That’s your seat now,” he murmured helpfully.

I stared at him for a moment, then nodded and made my way around, unable to resist sneaking a glance at my erstwhile dinner companions while I did. The twins were both beaming at me, happy for my good fortune. I loved them a little bit in that moment, since I knew many would resent my further elevation in status. 

Dinner passed in a bit of a blur, and Lancelot caught up to me in the passageway after, leaning in a bit to say, “Congratulations, Gareth.” 

“Did you have something to do with this?” I asked somewhat suspiciously. Although I still was not landed, being Queen’s Champion (and implicitly in line for Lancelot’s job) conferred much greater status on me than I had possessed before, and would hopefully address at least some of the social challenges I faced as peasant-born Knight. It would be sweet if Lancelot had tried to arrange that for me, but I was relieved when he shook his head. 

“No, it was entirely Arthur’s idea. Or rather, I suspect Guinevere had a large hand in it. You deserve it Gareth, and you earned it.” We shared a smile at that, and then suddenly Lance lit up a bit more. “Oh, and there’s something else. You’ll have the rooms next to mine in the Royal Suite.” 

For the first time since Arthur had singled me out during dinner, I felt a genuine grin split my face. That was the best news I had heard in a long time, since it would mean I would live near Lancelot, and we could see each other without risking anyone finding out about us. 

“Naturally _ that  _ is what you’re happy about!” laughed Lancelot.

I shrugged and hit him on the arm. “Hush you. Honestly, I’m not sure the rest of it has entirely sunk in yet…”

“Well, it will. Give it time. And as I said - you’ve more than earned it.” 

He smiled at me, a proud, private sort of smile that made my heart stutter and my breath catch. Even after all this time, I still craved Lancelot’s approval nearly as much as I had when I had been his squire, and having it now felt wonderful, like I had finally fulfilled some expectation he had held for me. 

“Thank you,” I managed, trying to ignore that it came out choked and rough. 

“Come,” said Lancelot, putting one hand on my shoulder in a comradely way, cognizant of the Courtiers moving around us, “Care for a hand moving your things to your new quarters?”

“Yes please.” 

*  *  *  *

We made it as far as Gareth’s rooms before my self control broke. As soon as the door was closed behind us, I crowded him up against a wall and kissed him like my life depended upon it. He laughed into my mouth and kissed me back, and with the contact amplifying our bond I was finally able to really show him just how proud I was of him, and how much he deserved this, and how much I adored him. When we finally broke apart out of necessity to breathe, I saw that Gareth’s cheeks were damp from tears - but he was smiling at me like I was the best thing in the world.

“Thank you,” said Gareth again, soft and heartfelt. 

“You’re welcome.”

We stood quietly for a moment, collecting ourselves, then set about packing up Gareth’s few possessions. His quarters were in fact a single room in the wing of the castle set aside for minor nobility and visiting knights. The only furnishings were a sturdy bed, small desk, and a couple of chests for clothing and armor. We called pages to carry those, and Gareth gathered a handful of other things in a spare set of saddlebags -  whetstone, some ink and a quill, and a few nicknacks. I picked one up off his nightstand just before he reached for it. 

It was a small carved wooden figure that some part of my brain recognized distantly. It came back to me slowly, while Gareth stood there and watched with a knowing little smile on his face.  _ I  _ had made this, years and years ago, when Gareth was newly my squire and we had been called away to war. It was the product of a very boring day spent stuck in a tent with little to do while it rained steadily outside. I had picked up a piece of wood and set about carving it into the shape of a horse in so that I wouldn’t go mad with the inactivity. Gareth had been sitting on the other side of the tent - I forgot how he had occupied himself, but it occurred to me suddenly that he may simply have been watching me. When I finished the figurine, I’d noticed Gareth staring. He’d been amazed by it, particularly by the fact that it was precise enough to stand upright on its four spindly legs. It was certainly not one of my better efforts, I had thought privately, for it lacked detail and finishing touches, so I had offhandedly told Gareth that if he liked it so much he could keep it. I’d been a terrible mood, and was still unsure exactly what to do with this boy who was suddenly my responsibility. But Gareth had taken it happily enough - and had, apparently, kept it ever since, sitting in pride of place on his nightstand. 

“I… _ gods,  _ Gareth you still still have this? It was...it was nothing, just a…”

“Well, it was something to me,” he replied, and it was a testament to how far our relationship had come that there was nothing defensive in his tone. Rather, it was gentle and somewhat pointed - he was reminding me how much  _ I _ had  _ always  _ meant to him, in different ways over the years. He added, “It was one of the only real gifts anyone had ever given me up ‘til then, even if you didn’t mean it like that, and it felt extra special because you had made it by hand.” 

I blinked back tears, giving myself a little mental shake, and handed the figurine over to him. “Well I’m glad you enjoyed it,” I managed, knowing that he would know that I meant much more than that. Since we were alone again, I hugged him impulsively before stepping back and asking, “So, is there anything else?” Gareth shook his head and handed me the saddlebags so he could carry his spare weaponry. The pages had already taken the trunks, and the room looked rather sad and bare - sadder and barer than it had before, that is. “Then let’s go,” I said with a smile, feeling a lightness in my heart as, for once, all was right with the world. 

*  *  *  *

I paused as we left, just before I closed the door, and glanced at the room. It was the first and so far only place that had ever really been  _ mine,  _ and having a private room had seemed like the greatest gift in the world when I was eighteen and had first acquired it. I had no particular attachment to the space, but rather to the idea and what it had represented at the time - success in my wild and utterly ridiculous goal of becoming a knight. I had been content with that, and yet somehow had come further still. I shifted my gaze to Lancelot, where he stood a few paces away, and smiled without hardly realizing that I was doing it. I shut the door and turned away to a new and very bright future. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come say 'hi' on [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/gwyndulac) (I'm GwynDuLac there too). I post updates on my stories and would love to chat with anyone who's been reading : )
> 
> Thanks everyone who has followed this story this far!

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hello on tumblr (I'm GwynDuLac there too) 
> 
> Comments and kudos are love ; )  
> (and are sometimes the motivation I need to keep writing...just saying)


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